


Half in shadow

by A_Quiet_Place



Series: Harbringer [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is even more mesed up, Body Horror, Co-Dependency, Counselling, Creepy sleep staking, Death, Insomnia, M/M, Masturbation, Monster Billy Hargrove, Non-Explicit Sex, PTSD, Paranoia, Psychological Trauma, Sad and lonely Steve Harrington, Sam Owens being suspicious, Shooting Guns, Slaughter, Sleeping Pills, Slow Burn, Steve likes monsters a little too much, Steve needed a hug but not like this, Steve's a bit messed up, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, autassassinophilia, non consensual cuddling and grinding, policeman steve, schrodingers glory hole, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Quiet_Place/pseuds/A_Quiet_Place
Summary: Ten years after the events of season 3, Steve is having the time of his life back in Hawkins after a messy break up and a troubled career in the New York police department.He's stuck working nights, stuck working with his paranoia and trauma. He's just stuck.The problem is he doesn't really feel like he's being paranoid any more, despite what his boss and therapist tell him. Something is happening in Hawkins again after all these years and Steve is the last of the party in town to deal with it.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harbringer [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820008
Comments: 93
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This really was just meant to be a one shot sensual monster fic. I don't know what happened.  
> Rated M for now, this may change in later chapters so keep an eye out for the ratings and the tags, they will update with new chapters.  
> Not Beta'd, let me know if there's mistakes!
> 
> Not my monkeys, just my circus.

**Steve**  
Hawkins, Indiana

April 1994

It's 7am and Steve is leaning forward in the seat of his beat-up pick-up truck. His uniform folded neatly in the back and out of sight and his badge tucked in his shirt pocket. He's staring across the road towards the meat-works that was once the Byers' property.

The sweet smell of cow shit and raw meat wafts in the air; permeating his pick-ups interior despite the windows being up. He's half way through consuming a stale bagel and a luke-warm cup of coffee with uncommitted enthusiasm, while the majority of his attention is on the comings and goings of the employees.

He has been out here for hours, waiting. Sweating. Casually peeing into a ditch. It brings back a lot of memories. He's got a few hours before work starts, and a whole lot of paranoia and coffee to keep him going until then.

If anyone had asked Steve as a teenager where he saw himself in ten years, his answer wouldn't have been sitting in the beat-up pick up truck he traded in (along with some rent) for his Beemer. It definitely wouldn't have been in _Hawkins, Indiana_. He had specifically left Hawkins to _leave Hawkins_. But here he is, back in his home town after all these years drowning in a perpetual sense of dejavu.

He squints through the chain link fence as a white van pulls up; it's windows painted over and the company logo splashed over the side. His bagel drops forgotten to the floor by his feet as he scrambles to lift up a pair of binoculars.

“Come on, shit-stains,” he mumbles around a cheek full of bread. “Show me what you got.”

Two men climb out of the front, wearing white hazmat suits. They open the van's back doors and a ramp drops down. Two more men appear from inside and begin wheeling out a large crate of some kind. There's a tarp secured over the top of it, obscuring Steve's view. The base of the container, he can tell, is metal – and from the way the four of them struggle to push it through the back doors, heavy as hell.

He stays watching for an hour until the men come back – now stripped of their protective gear – to drive the van off to the side and park it. They then head into the front of the building and Steve loses sight of them once more.

He's really trying to ignore his gut instinct. Desperately even. He _wants_ to go on in and ask a few pointed questions, snoop around, find out of there's some secret underground base. But he's had a few too many conversations with Chief Powell. Even Callahan has had a go at him for 'disturbing the peace'.

He's on thin ice – he knows that. He's here on recommendation – well request. Kind of. A few too many close calls in New York and a lot of unresolved trauma made him snap, at least that's what his therapist had said, but he'd used bigger words.

His walkie crackles to life at his belt, making him jump a foot out of his seat in fright. His coffee miraculously stays mostly in the paper cup.

“Harrington- come in.”

He swears under his breath and fumbles clumsily, trying to answer with his free hand at an awkward angle. He switches the walkie on with his thumb, already feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“I'm busy, Tina.”

“Yeah, I know, but it's that kid again. He's called like, ten times. It's not even nine, Steve!” Tina's voice hits shrill enough to make the walkie crackle and hiss and Steve grimaces. “Would you just call him back already? He's driving me insane!”

Steve's got a sinking feeling he's going to be asked for more girl advice. He has somehow become part of Dustin's university experience, living it vicariously through panicked phone calls. What can he say? He makes a damn good older brother.

“Fucking fine. I'll be there soon.” Steve grumbles, flinging the last of his coffee out the window. He starts up the pick-up and pulls out sharply from his look-out spot.

He sighs and drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he reaches the first set of lights. Despite the cheerful weather and promise to talk to Dustin, his thoughts have focused back on that ominous looking container. It was the wrong shape and size for a freezer, and those hazmat suits, he's pretty sure, are not standard meat-works uniform.

There's a prickle of dread that he can't ignore working it's way up the back of his neck.

Halfway back to the police station he lets out a frustrated growl and does a hard U-turn back around to the nearest payphone.

He pulls out his wallet and digs around through old receipts and wrinkled bank notes until he finds a battered looking business card and tugs it free.

He's already punched the number in before he can really question himself. It rings twice then quiet voice speaks into Steve's ear.

“Bauman Investigators. Jonathan Byers, speaking.”

“Hey, it's Steve.”

“Steve... Harrington? Wow, hey, what's up?”

“I need a favor.”

x X x

June 1994

Jonathan sits opposite Steve at Benny's Diner. He looks good, Steve admits out loud. Jonathan just laughs a little shyly and smiles returning a 'you too.'

It's been a few years since they last saw each other in person. Jonathan's grown more confident, holds himself taller. He still manages that aloof and mysterious aura that Steve had taken exception to in high school. Now he's more than a little envious of it.

“How're the girls?” Steve asks.

“Barb's really curious, gets into everything, sticks anything she can in her mouth.” Jonathan grins and leans back in his seat, eyes a little distant and warm as he recalls. “Nancy's great, she's uh.. got another four months until she pops and Barb gets a little brother or sister. They're both pretty excited. Mom's already sending baby clothes.”

Steve grins as Jonathan takes a photo from his wallet to show him. It's Nancy and a tiny version of herself grinning at the camera, wearing their Sunday best.

“She's grown a lot since I saw her last.”

Jonathan looks pleased, staring at the photo with the same warmness in his eyes as he had for Nancy back in High School. Steve smiles wistfully to himself and crams a few fries into his mouth.

“How's Nicole?”

Steve's mirth fades and he rubs the back of his neck, chewing slowly to give himself more time before he has to answer. Byers exhales a little and offers something of a sympathetic smile as he catalogues Steve's expressions.

Steve tries not to grimace. Tries not to feel like he's under a microscope. Jonathan's just too good at reading people.

“She dumped me a couple of months ago.” He begins with a heavy exhale. “Left the engagement ring on the table and walked out. I guess she loved New York more than me.” He _really_ doesn't want to think about it.

“Shit. Sorry, Steve.” Jonathan winces.

Steve clears his throat and reaches a hand out, gesturing for Jonathan to hand him something. _Anything_ to get the conversation moving again.

“What'd you find?”

Jonathan straightens up. His business mode turns on like a switch and he digs a folder out of his satchel, handing it to Steve with a meaningful look.

“There's nothing out of the ordinary in the blueprints, and I couldn't find anything on suspicious deliveries.”

Steve opens the folder, flipping through the first few articles on the construction and layout of the Meat-works.

“Sorry, Steve. I wish I could stay and dig around a bit longer, but I have to get back to Nancy.”

Steve nods, he feels himself deflate a little in his seat. He's not sure if it's relief or disappointment.

Jonathan gives him another all knowing examination.

“Hey.” He asks gently, his eyes creased with concern. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

Steve clears his throat and offers a weak smile in response. He knows what he looks like. Tired as hell, pale, dark circles under his eyes. But Jonathan's only a little wrong. He's not having the standard wake up sweating and hearing his heart pound in his ear drums kind of nightmares any more. He's having the wake up screaming and thrashing, and falling out of bed to escape kind.

The kind of nightmares that caused him to have an episode at work back in New York. The kind that got him sent back to his home town and made his fiancée too afraid to sleep next to him.

“I really appreciate you coming all the way back here, Jonathan.” Steve offers instead. “It's great to see you. Give Nancy and Barb my love?”

Jonathan stares at him silently for a few seconds too long before he nods and stands. He pats Steve affectionately on the back and collects up his things.

“If you need anything, just call, okay? We have a spare room, you can crash with us any time.”

Steve blinks back the tears in his eyes and forces a grin.

“Thanks. That's really-...Thanks, man."


	2. Chapter 2

July 1994

Steve's got his feet up on his desk while he goes over endless paper work. Hawkins police department is a skeleton crew at 3:15am. The officers around him move in a sluggish zombie-like fashion. It's only Monday.

Steve's on night-shift because after all these years he still can't keep his paranoia in check.

Chief Powell is a fair guy. He knows Steve's got a lot going on under all that hair. So when Steve had been caught trying to sneak through the meat works- _again_ he hadn't demanded Steve's badge. He'd sat Steve down in his office and given him the 'look, son' talk.

Steve admitted, embarrassed as all hell, that he can't sleep at night, that he's honestly a bit of a mess.

Now Steve has night shift and a bottle full of sleeping pills. He sees a counselor every Wednesday.

He's still a mess. But only the town drunks get to see him like this and most of them wont remember. So everyone's happy.

Hawkins on a weeknight is like watching paint dry. No one volunteers for this shift except the old timers looking to retire without having to get out too much. It's a _calmer and more suited atmosphere_ for someone with Steve's basket of issues, or whatever.

Steve's the youngest in the station on this shift, so when there's a call out he's always in a mad scramble to be the first out the door. Just to do _something_ that isn't paper work or getting fat. Tonight's no different.

He's already in his car and on the road when he really takes in the address.

“Fuck.”

It's on Cherry. Specifically, it's Maxine parents place. More specifically, it's where Neil still lives un-punched, un-punished for the hell he put his kids through – is still putting Maxine through.

Steve groans as he makes his way through the non-existent night traffic. With any luck, He'll be dealing with Susan instead. He can tolerate Susan and her bad decisions. He can keep his mouth shut around her.

When he pulls up, he knows immediately that he's not going to be that lucky.

Neil is standing at his doorway in his dressing gown. His arms are crossed and his stance is all military. Susan huddled small behind him.

Steve takes in a deep breath and gets out of his squad car. He has the advantage that Neil doesn't know who he is, doesn't know what he knows, so if he can just keep quiet he might get through the night without getting fired.

“Mr Hargrove?” He says, making sure his badge is showing. “You called in about someone snooping around your property?”

Neil tells him in clipped angry sentences that he had been up to use the bathroom and saw someone's face peering into one of the windows. Likely to case the joint, in Steve's opinion, but he doesn't say that.

Neil isn't able to give a good description, just saw what he thought was white male with a shaved head. So Steve makes a show of writing it all down on his notebook and flipping it closed dramatically. He then wanders around the property four times trying to find any sign of the pervert. Every sweep he does he can feel Neil's cold gaze on his back, judging him from every angle.

It's fucking _uncomfortable_.

Half an hour later, Steve finally tells Neil that he'll get someone to take a look around in the morning. That he should make sure all the windows are locked and curtains closed.

Neil's face sours but he has no choice but to agree.

Steve grits his teeth when he hears Neil mutter 'useless' under his breath.

Steve's pretty sure with his police training he can take Neil in a fight. Maybe.

Instead he clears out, writes up the report and the request in his car. Waits for Neil's lights to go off before he rests his head on the steering wheel with a sudden overwhelming exhaustion. He doesn't want to think about Max and Billy living in that house with that man. He does anyway.

He really wants a cigarette.

He's about to drive back when he sees a blur of white in the rear view mirror. He spins around in his seat to look over his shoulder, scanning the darkness. There's nothing there, but he gets out of the car anyway. One hand gripping his torch, the other resting on the gun holstered at his hip.

He checks the bushes, the gaps between the houses, even under his damn car. Heart beating loudly into his eardrums, because of course he's on the verge of a panic attack.

He doesn't find anything. Like, of course he doesn't, why would anything allay his fears? He's not proud to admit that it takes an extra few minutes to get himself under control.

When he finally gets back into the car and drives out of Cheery, his eyes scan the darkness warily. He's still on edge, his exhaustion mostly forgotten until he pulls up safely at the station.

He really needs to fucking sleep.

xXx

July 1994

Steve has something of a 6th sense when it comes to bullshit these days. He's had a lot of training in that area. So when he's out on patrol at 1am on Tuesday, the night after Neil had called in his Peeping Tom, Steve gets a great big whiff of fresh and authentic bullshit.

There are utility vans parked or slowly driving down the streets as he passes by. The same kind he saw parked outside the meat-works a month or so ago.

Hawkins is not a happening place, the night traffic is sparse. The vans stick out like dogs balls. Steve grips the steering wheel too tight.

It could be nothing. It could just be his paranoia.

Steve knows it isn't.

He parks up and watches them, follows a few around. They seem to be driving aimlessly, but to Steve it looks like they're doing a sweep.

He takes down the license plates and wishes he had invested in a good camera. Wishes even more Jonathan was with him, or Dustin, hell he'd even take Mike at this point. He's more than prepared to keep on following them, but his walkie crackles to life.

Steve swears a lot as he's called into action at one of the local pubs. He can't lose this job though, he literally has nothing else going for him.

By the end of his shift he's just about spitting with annoyance. All those vans have disappeared.

As he drives his pick-up back to his – well it's technically Jane's shack, his eyes are scanning down every street in hopes of finding at least one of them. He can't risk the meat-works again until he's sure.

He's so fucked up. Nicole was right. He's _not_ going to think about her though.

He considers calling Robin. He really fucking misses her. She would be calling him a dingus, probably tell him he's losing his mind. Make everything less terrifying.

It's his own fault they drifted a part. He'd let Nicole come in like a whirlwind and slowly but surely separate him from his closest friends.

Nicole had made him feel like he was normal, like nothing bad had happened to him. And wasn't that just sad? He'd done the whole high school thing all over again before he'd even released it. Then it was too late to turn back.

Maybe he will try calling Robin. Tomorrow.

With a heavy sigh he pulls into his driveway and forces himself to head inside and eat something. It's cheerios, but whatever.

He forces himself to take a shower, get into his pajamas, which are just a pair of sport shorts and baggy old t-shirt. Then robotically forces himself to take his sleeping pills while collapsing his long frame on the single bed. They leave a crappy taste in his mouth but they knock him the fuck out all night.

It's usually a blissfully dreamless- or unmemorable affair. He's even a little happy to be going to bed after taking them.

Tonight is different.

He dreams of being crushed under the weight of a monster. He can't see it, and he can't escape. It breathes him in and slides a horrible cold tongue up the side of his face.

“Harrington.” It's voice is strained with disuse but there's no confusing the name. It's breathed right into his ear.

Steve tries to scream, but the sound is lost in his throat. The weight on his back shifts, sliding along his limbs until they are pressed together from neck to ankle.

There's a deep rumble against his back and he feels the sharp points of teeth graze along the skin at the side of his neck.

He wakes drenched in sweat and tangled in his sheets. The dream fades out of his mind until he gets into his pick-up for work. When it all comes back to him, he sits behind the wheel starring into space for so long that he's late to the station.


	3. Chapter 3

July 1994

How counseling is meant to work when he is contractually unable to talk about Russian torture and the face-eating-monsters-from-another-dimension is beyond Steve. But it's Wednesday and he has to be here.

Steve's sitting in the claustrophobic room with Brian, his 'guide through the hard times'. Brian is very understanding and a little invasive.

“How are you feeling about the meat-works at the moment?” Brian prompts.

Steve grimaces a little. He may have told Brian he thinks the Russian Mafia is running the meat industry of Hawkins.

He's not a great liar. Instead he omits a lot, makes up a bit more. He tells everyone his trauma is from New York where he got beat up by the Russian Mafia. It's the closest he can get to true. It's not even a big thing. He _does_ have trauma from New York, it's just not _the_ trauma. It's more like the straw that broke the camels back, or made it vomit everything back up. Whatever.

He shrugs and exhales heavily.

“I just have this bad feeling, y'know?”

“Like the feeling you have about dogs? Or different?”

So yes, Steve also has trouble around dogs. But only like, if they are large, dark furred and sneak up on him. If he knows they're there, he's fine. Honest to god. He can get his lizard brain to accept that it's not a demodog if he can see it's face.

“No, it's just like-” He pauses trying to find the words. “I know there's something wrong, okay?”

Brian nods a little and makes a note on his little notebook.

“Look, about the dogs.”

Brian looks up at him and allows him to deflect a little for once.

“People own dogs. It's like, a fact. Some people are just assholes with their dogs and don't warn the police that there's one wandering free around their property.” He throws his hands up exasperated.

Steve has in fact pulled his gun out on a black poodle before. He didn't shoot it, but he was shaking like a leaf and his heart nearly exploded in his chest.

That was one of the reasons they sent him to Hawkins.

“Have you been doing the exercises we talked about?” Brian pauses in his writing to regard him steadily. Trying to see if Steve will lie about it.

“Yeah, I've been going to the pound in the weekend.” He exhales and rubs his fingers into his eye sockets, hiding the eye contact, hiding the lie. He's not afraid of dogs. Going to pat dogs is not going to help him.

Brian hums.

“Steven. When you are ready to be honest with me about how you are trying to over come your fears I will be able to help you. But until then, I'm not going to tell Chief Powell that you are well enough to go back on day shift.”

Steve tires not to laugh. It comes out as a strained chuckle and he hangs his head a bit.

“Yeah. I know. _Thanks_ Brian.” The sarcasm is friendly, but it's still sarcasm.

It's a lousy start to the evening.

By the time his shift is over at 8am, Steve is well and truly done with all human interaction for the day.

There's nothing quite like having to drag your drunk high school ex-friend into the holding cells to sleep it off. Tommy still has a big mouth. He's still a massive jerk. He still hates Steve. But at least he's honest about it.

Carol is very pregnant and very hormonal, and his ear is still ringing from where she screamed at him over the phone. His only consolation is knowing that Tommy is going to get is worse than he had when she goes to get him.

He's stewing over it right until he gets inside his patched up little cabin. Then he's frozen in place, ears straining to listen. His hand grips at his holstered gun as his eyes carefully scan his surroundings.

He'd had to fix the place up – put in new boards and basically learn how to hammer a nail all for the sake of not living with his parents. The windows sometimes don't open properly, he's working on it okay? But it means he knows for a fact when he finds the kitchen window wide open that he didn't leave it that way, he physically couldn't have.

He holds his breath as he moves through the cabin, checking behind every bit of furniture with his pistol a nice and solid weight in his hands. He checks through his home twice, not letting his guard drop until he's sure it's empty.

Only then does he allow himself to exhale deep and slow. Nothing is missing that he can see, there's no sign of anything broken or left behind that would suggest someone had broken in. Still, when Steve closes the kitchen window, firmly, (he literally has to force it shut with the weight of his whole body) he makes sure three times that it's locked.

He checks around the outside too, but there's not much to see. No footprints or scrape marks. Most importantly, no paw prints.

Calling it in seems like a waste of time. There's nothing to see.

He could call a friend. Dustin would probably be in class right about now. Maybe his parents? No, definitely not.

Robin.

But like, he would have to start apologizing and remembering Nicole and how much of a tool he had become. He's just- he's not ready for all that. Well, he is but today is not a good day for it. _Fuck._

No he doesn't want to use Robin as an excuse to allay his fears, he wants to call her when he's in the right head-space.

So Steve's not going to call anyone. He's going to check everything one more time- two more times, then he's going to lay down.

Still, as wired as he is, when he is finally ready to go to bed he stares at the sleeping pills indecisively. He knows he wont get any sleep without them, he's too high strung. But if there had been someone in his house and they come back, he doesn't want to be helpless.

He grinds his back teeth down as he mulls it over. The cabin is silent.

Steve's being an idiot.

He changes into an old t-shirt and pajama pants, and does the final rounds of the house, making sure his black-out curtains are all shut, shunning out the bright and beautiful day outside.

Then he sits on the edge of his bed and frowns at the prescription bottle in his hand. He decides on a compromise in the end. The radio at Steve's bedside turns on and he cranks the volume up just high enough that it's clear someone's home. He puts the pills back in the drawer.

He's asleep within the hour.

It's still awful to hear the sounds of the demodogs baying in his dreams, out for his blood and chasing him through the car lot. It still makes his heart pound – but it's not what wakes him a few scant hours later.

It's the prickle on the back of his neck and the sudden stillness in the air – the sudden silence. Steve doesn't move, doesn't make a sound to indicate that he's anything other than asleep. But his senses are straining to pick up in the wrongness around him. He's on his stomach, neck turned at an odd angle to face the wall narrowing his visibility uncomfortably.

For the longest time there's nothing. Steve even stupidly begins to relax before he realizes that the silence shouldn't be silence.

His radio is off.

His breath catches in his throat. He's about to open his eyes to check when he hears something that makes his blood run cold.

There's a sort of sniffing sound as if something is scenting the room. Steve feels the muscles in his shoulders bunch, ready to launch himself off the bed but he can't seem to get himself to move. He then feels the corner of his mattress dip by his feet.

His heart is hammering violently as he feels the slow shift of weight. Another dip in the mattress by his knees. He's screaming at himself to move but there's a cold chill in his spine that has frozen him in place.

A third dip at his hip and a shift as the weight at his knee lifts and moves up beside his rib-cage. That huffing sound happens again, and Steve has the horrifying realization that whatever it is is inhaling the smell of him.

He has to move. _Has to._

Steve is not a coward. No one will ever say that about him. He's too fucking stupid to be a coward.

He squeezes his eyes shut remembering the bravery and selflessness of Hopper and Jane, of all his friends all those years ago. He even thinks of Nicole.

He will warn them, he has to.

The thing above him makes a noise that sounds almost like a hum. It pauses it's movements.

Steve takes the opportunity to roll sharply. The weight above him rears back like it's waiting for him.

Steve flails out, hitting air. He's screaming through gritted teeth, jack-knifing his whole body to try and get some hits in.

His arms are caught and pinned in a vice like grip either side of his head so fast he can barely keep up. His legs are crushed and caught under a solid and heavy weight, forced painfully to the bedding.

Steve stares wide eyed in the dim light of the room. He lets out a strangled scream as he focuses in on a face.

The breath leaves his lungs all at once and he can't be seeing right. His struggles cease abruptly.

He needs to stop moving to be sure of who he's looking at.

Steve's wrists are aching under the grip, he can feel the circulation leaving his hands. Another choked noise leaves his throat involuntarily. None of that matters right now. It all seems very unimportant.

He knows that face. He knows those eyes but it's not fucking possible. _No fucking way._

 _Billy_.

 _It's not possible_. He's breathing so hard he thinks he might pass out.

It's Billy he'd know that crazed look and cut-throat blue eyed glare anywhere. His hair is shorn down to his scalp. He's older around his eyes. The earring is missing, but there's an indent in his left earlobe.

Billy's pale. So pale. He's covered in blood. It's splattered all over his chin, arms and torso, sticking to the remains of a torn and filthy white shirt.

There's a dark tint to his lips under the blood smears like he's wearing the residue of a black lipstick. There's also strange lines around his mouth and jaw, like raised scars.

Steve freezes, his mouth opens but no words come out.

Then Billy smiles. His teeth, Jesus H. Christ. His teeth are _sharp_ and _mean_ looking points.

Steve has a moment of uncomfortable fantasy. His mind is helpfully supplying that the scars around Billy's mouth are raised like there's cartilage underneath. They're in the shape of the flower head openings of the demodogs.

Steve's stomach drops and he can't pull his eyes away. They're going to open like a flower and Billy's going to take a bite out of him. _Jesus. Fuck. Oh holy shit._

Steve's going to faint. He's really- yep. A harsh ringing in his ears blocks out everything around him. His vision blurs and goes white at the edges.

He's going to die being eaten by Billy Hargrove while being pinned to his bed because he _fainted._

Steve is dimly aware of the sound of car tires skidding along gravel, the splintering sounds of wood. His breath is compressed under the heavy weight of Billy's body and he can't seem to get enough oxygen.

Billy's head jerks up suddenly – whips around to stare at the doorway of Steve's room. His whole body is a tense line of iron on top of Steve.

Just as Steve passes out he sees is Billy snarling. Men in full combat gear burst into his small room with their guns raised. But what does that even matter when he's being pulled into the darkness of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does it always feel like I've written a lot but then when I post it there's hardly anything there at all?  
> I'm aiming to make these chapters longer, but man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will slow down a little now as I've caught up to my draft. But at least now I have a basic outline and wont have to re-write every chapter 3 times. \o/  
> The previous story in the series 'Raw' is a little bit of an insight as to Billy's perspective. So if you're curious that's there.

The sun is in Steve's eyes.

He frowns and tries to roll over.

A warm hand grips his face, holding him still, another pries his eyelid open. The light shines into his retina's and Steve is very awake and very annoyed all of a sudden.

He tries to shove whoever it is away while blinking and twisting from the blinding the light. His hands make it a few inches before they catch on something. A metal clang resonates and jingles as he wriggles his wrist around.

He's a cop, he knows what handcuffs sound and feel like. That's not a promising sign.

“Geddoff!” Steve jerks his head back, pulling away from the light. After a few heavy blinks and when his eyes stop seeing spots, he sees he's in a hospital room. A large man in a lab coat is tucking a small torch into his pocket and wheeling himself in his chair across the room towards the end of the bed.

“Who're you? Where th'fuh ammi?” Steve grouses, trying to shake the sluggish tiredness that crawls into the back of his eyes and hijacks his tongue.

The man ignores him while he writes something down on the chart at the end of the metal framed bed. He's at least in his fifties, large beer gut, has a salt and pepper neck beard. When he's done, he casually rolls his chair towards the door and presses a button on a panel by the light switch.

“He's awake.” There's relief in hearing the man speak English. Huge relief. For a moment there he thought he'd woken up in the past. Like that movie, back to the past from the future or whatever.

Robin would understand.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut a few times, trying to rub his eyeballs with his eyelids.

The large guy pulls his latex gloves off and bins them, and stands. He gives Steve a final look over before the doors open beside him and he simply leaves the room.

“Hey!” Steve calls after him, confused, annoyed. “Hey, come on!” The door shuts and Steve is left sitting alone in the little room. His wrists are cuffed to the metal side bars of the hospital bed, he's pretty sure they're his own cuffs too.

His brain is struggling to keep up with the situation, he's light headed and groggy, struggling to keep his eyes open. There's a jumbled mash of confusion when he tires to remember what lead to this predicament.

He'd put Tommy in a cell. He thinks he went home? It's sort of a grey area at the moment. It should be pretty important to figure out but he's honestly just super tired.

_Focus, Steve._

He shakes his head vigorously to try and shake off the need to sleep.

There was – he has to protect Jane? Which is not really new, but is also very new at the same time. There's a novelty to it, protecting Jane.

_Heh. So... so fucking tired._

Minutes tick by until he hears someone approach the door. Another white lab-coated man walks in. Silver hair, a bit long in the tooth by the looks of him. Startlingly familiar as well.

Steve feels a swell of dread coil in his chest.

“I know you.” Steve frowns, trying to remember the name. “You're that guy from Starcourt. Doctor.. Owens, right?” Yeah no, if Owens is involved it's not going to be good. Steve's systems are setting into unease – panic even. If that hasn't woken Steve up nothing will.

Owens smiles warmly at him and sinks himself on the vacated chair, rolling it inelegantly towards Steve's bedside.

“The very one. How're are you doing, Steven? It's been a while.”

“It's Steve.” Steve jiggles the handcuffs pointedly. His brain is slowly catching up to the dread he feels building in his core.

“Ah, yes, sorry about all this.” Owens fumbles a pair of keys from his pockets and unlatches the handcuffs, leaning over Steve to get to the ones on his far side. “They were worried you'd try to attack when you woke up.”

“What is all this?” Steve rubs his wrists a little and pushes himself into a sitting position. “Why am I here?” He has a feeling he already knows but he's just hoping he's super wrong. _Super, super wrong._

Owens looks him in the eye with some concern.

“That's a pretty long story, Steve-o. Maybe we could get you something to eat. A cup of coffee or something? Are you comfortable?”

Steve frowns. Plying him with comforting, stabilizing things means it's going to be rough. _Is already rough_. Okay, he's more awake now. His brain goes into overdrive.

He had been at home. Someone broke into his house, there was an open window and – _and..._

_Billy._

“Why the fuck was Billy Hargrove alive and in my house?” He can't keep the panic from his voice now. He's trying to sit up properly but has to fight with the blankets to do it. “What did you do?! Are they back?!”

Owens raises both hands in surrender, trying to calm Steve with a gentle gesture.

“Right into it then.” Owens exhales and offers a sympathetic smile. “We haven't re-opened the gate, Steve. Take a breather. Billy- he's been with us a _while_.”

Steve leaps from the bed, stumbling a little on unsteady legs. He can't seem to keep his mouth from gaping open.

“When the fight happened at the mall, we collected up the bodies. Billy's was one of them.” Owens spins in his seat to follow Steve's movements while he talks. “He'd been possessed by that creature, remember? His body was- well it was invaluable. Full of information on how that creature worked, it's potential weaknesses. We couldn't just leave him there, you see? If that thing ever came back we'd have to be prepared.”

There's something in Owens' eyes that Steve doesn't like when he says  _'if'._ He can feel the sweat trickle down his spine. 

Steve runs his hands through his hair, tugging it in his stress. He takes several deep breaths while he paces back and forward in the confines of the room. He can see the logic of it, that's the worst part. The reasoning is logical. But the whole science team has a really shitty track record. There's more to it than protection. Steve would have to be blind to not see that.

Billy was a secret though, Steve's an idiot but he's not a moron. Max would be here instead of him if Billy wasn't a secret. So that means Billy wasn't meant to be roaming free in Hawkins.

“Why was he in my house?” Steve asks, much calmer than he feels. “How is he even alive?”

“I understand you went to school together?” Owens steeples his fingers and rests his forearms on the bed.

Steve nods automatically at the question.

“That's good. It means his visit to your house wasn't a random act. To be honest, he wont say. He- well it's a bit embarrassing, he escaped a few days ago. Killed a few very good men in the process.”

Owens clears his throat, but Steve can tell he's not all that cut up about it. “Thankfully we had a tracker implanted in him so we managed to catch him before he got too far, eh?”

Steve's eyebrows climb towards his hair line.

“Look this is a lot to take in, I know. How about we get you something to wear and we go for a little walk. Visit our mutual friend, and I'll explain on the way?”

Steve swallows numbly and nods again.

Owens brings him some hospital chic scrubs to wear over his pajamas and some slippers. Steve pulls them on hastily over his pajamas and follows Owens out of the room.

There's guards posted outside the door. They turn and flank Steve and Owens as they walk past. Steve feels that inner dread squeeze his lungs.

Owens leads them through three security doors, each with different locks and their own guards. They walk through a room filled with who Steve can only guess are scientists, each following charts or looking through test tubes. Scientist stuff. One of them hands Owens a clip board in passing, and Owens licks his finger tips to check the pages. He nods to himself and tucks the board under his arm.

At the end of the room there's a heavy door. The stationed guard opens it as they approach and Owens leads Steve through.

There's a room lit with florescent bulbs. There's an intercom station and security camera footage on display, and behind that is some kind of fiberglass. Beyond the glass is a dimly lit bedroom. Behind them the guard that are flanking them take up position at the door inside the room.

But that's not really registering to Steve right now. He feels his heart rate pick up, his stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight of Billy.

Billy's doing push ups in the middle of the room. His clothes are newer, white cotton t-shirt and draw string pants. He's covered in a thin sheen of sweat which really does wonders in showing off his compact figure. He ignores Steve and Owens as they stand watching him – as if they aren't even there.

Owens startles Steve out of his internalized panic attack.

“We couldn't bring him back as he was. His cells were too damaged, all that bleach and- well you get the idea. We had to use what was available, what his body had already accepted as its own.” He makes a vague gesture at Billy's black veined skin. “It was a breakthrough like no other when he started breathing.”

“You brought him back as- as one of those things. He could still be flayed!” Steve feels his heart stutter.

Owens shakes his head.

“Billy is unlike any other hosts of the entit-... the mind flayer. He was separated from it. Cut off.” Owens makes a slicing gesture with the side of his palm. “He fought it off to save your friends. What is left – as far as our studies and tests have shown, is Billy. Just altered.”

“Okay?” Steve frowns, unbelieving – feeling anger build up again. He crosses his arms over his chest. “The Mind flayer liked to hide. How can you be sure he's not just messing with you?”

Owens lets out a breath. He shrugs with the clip-board clutched in hand.

“Steve, we've taken precautions. Even if that were the case, he's isolated-” He raises a hand to forestall Steve's objection. “He's an asset, either way. He wont escape again. I've made sure of that.”

Steve clenches his jaw. Watches as Billy finishes his set and slowly stands up. He turns towards Steve and Owens. Piercing blue eyes settle on Steve and do not waver.

“Doc.” Steve begins, unable to tear his eyes away from Billy. “Why am I here?”

“Billy wont talk about what he remembers. He wont hear about anything from his past, especially the incidents involving the en- the mind flayer. He flies into a rage, gets violent, self destructive. But when he escaped he did two things.”

“He went to his old house. He was there to see Neil.” Steve swallows thickly.

Owens nods.

“We believe he saw you, and instead of doing whatever it was he had planned for his family, followed you home.”

Steve finally looks away from Billy. He feels sick. Light headed and shaky. He shoves his hands under his armpits to stop them from shaking.

“He didn't attack you, Steven. If he had, you would already be dead.” Owens licks his lips nervously. “He ripped Briggs' throat out in the blink of an eye.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut.

He remembers the weight on his chest, the teeth hovering above him and his heart racing in his chest. The thundering fear in his veins. It hadn't lasted long but for that brief moment – before he passed out, Steve has to convince himself it's not the most alive he's felt in ten years.

Steve exhales, trying to ignore the fact that he knows Billy is still staring at him through the glass. He ignores the goose pimples that rise on his skin, the way his nipples are like two very accusing fingers pointing towards the occupant small cell room. He definitely ignores the way his body shudders at the memory of being pinned down to his bed.

“I can't- I can't be a part of this again.”

“You already are.” Owens turns to Steve and smiles grimly. “As of this morning, you were officially discharged from your police duties and enlisted to work for the United States government.”

Steve just stares at him.

Owens lifts the clip-board and offers it up to Steve. Steve takes it in slow hands and stares at the paper uncomprehendingly.

“That is your contract and legal terms. I suggest you read it very carefully, as you've already signed it.”

Steve blinks at him and looks down at the bottom of the page. There in his messy scrawl is Steve's signature.

“What the actual fuck. This is forgery!” He flips alarmed through the rest of the pages to find his mark on each one.

Owens offers that sympathetic smile again and shrugs.

“Leave nothing to chance.” Owens lets his gaze drift towards Billy in the cell. “You don't want to know what the other choice is.”

Steve pushes his fingers into his eye sockets.

“FUCK.”

On the other side of the glass Billy's lips curl into a slow smile.


	5. Chapter 5

August 1994

Steve is allowed to leave the facility with two very armed and trained chaperones, as if he's got anywhere to run to. He calls them Bert and Ernie because they wont tell him their names. And you know, he thinks they would make a cute couple; sitting in silence together, not sharing affection and keeping separate beds.

They're in full tactical gear, faces obscured by bandoleers and everything. Driving around in a meat van with blacked out windows. Just the height of subtlety. Dustin would be losing his mind.

Owens has said Steve's to live at the facility until their work is concluded. However long that is. The ambiguity of the date is what really makes Steve nervous, he wants to trust his government but this is like the third time they've done some sneaky underhanded shit.

So his new home is going to be the facility that is totally below the meat-works and Steve has been goddam right about this place all along. _Eat it Powell._

Only he doesn't feel particularly proud of himself right now.

Bert and Ernie drive him back to his little cabin and tell him to get everything he needs. It feels an awful lot like he's packing to go on the worlds worst holiday.

Steve's allowed two heavily monitored phone calls. He's pretty sure they've tapped his phone line, like the threats on his entire family, himself and basically everyone he's ever known isn't enough to stop him from spilling the Demobilly beans.

“Two. Calls.” Bert says, gesturing to the phone. “Make them quick.”

Ernie takes position by the door, watching.

Steve hasn't had a lot of time to consider who he's going to call. He uses the time he's emptying his drawers into a duffel bag to weigh up the best options. It's too bad he owns very little after his split with Nicole and the moving states fiasco.

Top of the list is Dustin, because obviously. The kid has the best chances of working out there's something wrong and contacting all the others without being caught. Not that they could do much for him, but Steve's willing to be an optimist.

He can't put Jonathan or Nancy in danger with their two little kids. He can't pull Jane or Max into this after all they've been through. Besides, Jane's powers were never the same. She couldn't do what she used to be able to and she's afraid if she uses what little power she's got back too much they'll run out again.

She's trying to live a normal life. Steve can respect that.

The boys of the Party, he's not too close with any of them. Henderson was his main point of contact, and Erica doesn't need this shit.

But there is Robin.

If anyone can work out something is wrong it's her. She's a freaking genius. It's just a shame that working against her is Steve. A true dingus that knows shit all about secret codes.

He makes up his mind and calls Dustin first

“Steve!” Dustin beams through he phone line and Steve can't help but smile in spite of everything.

“Hey buddy! I don't have a lot of time, so listen up. I got –“ Steve chokes a little and feels his shoulders tense as Bert raises an eyebrow. “I got given a new uh – stake out job. But like it's it's off road, y'know? No phone lines. So I wont be able to call for a while okay?”

“That's so cool!” Dustin is unreasonably delighted by the sheer awesomeness of that tall tale. “You're like Boba Fett! But you know, without the cool tech and spaceships and stuff.”

“Right, like Bubba Fett.”

“It's _Boba_ Fett. I can't believe you sometimes. How long are you away for?”

“Sure, yeah. I'm not sure yet. Until the jobs done I guess? It could be a few weeks,” _or forever_ , he resists adding. “So could you maybe pass that on to the other nerds?”

Steve's mouth is a pit filled with lies. Dustin is so trusting and enthusiastic about it all and it makes Steve very painfully aware that this might be the last time they talk for months, and he can't even tell Dustin.

“Take care of yourself, Henderson.”

He hangs up with a heavy heart and stares with large puppy dog eyes at Bert.

Bert ignores it.

Steve takes in another deep breath and dials Robin's number next.

Her answering machine picks up and Steve feels a small relief grow in his chest. He doesn't have time to explain how stupid he has been to someone talking back to him.

“Hey Buckley it's your least favorite Dingus? I want- like I want to talk to you, I miss you. But I'm going out of Hawkins phone range for work.” He pauses and closes his eyes. “I know I'm a _meat-head_ but I just wanted you to know I'm sorry. If- when I come back I'd like to talk? Okay, bye.”

His hands are shaking as he hangs up, hoping like hell she's not just going to delete it. Hoping her ear is still as good as it was at Scoops.

Bert and Ernie take him back tot he facility and lead him to a very military style room. The walls are a mind numbing grey color undisturbed by any windows or view of the outside. There's an inbuilt bed with hospital grade blankets and a simple small dresser. That's about it. Steve drops his stuff on the bed and kneads his palms into his eyes.

Behind him there's a light knock on the door. He turns to see Owens in the doorway.

“I'm sorry about all this, Steve-o. Really. It was this or – well it doesn't matter any more.”

Steve has the sinking feeling the rest of that sentence was going to be something like: _or_ _work related_ _death._ He shakes it off.

“So let's start fresh. The cafeteria does a mean meatloaf!” Owens grins and pats his stomach. “Then we can talk about what you'll be doing with us here at Beefco.”

-

It turns out all he's going to be doing is sitting on the other side of the glass and trying to get Billy to talk to him like they're old chums or some shit. Like everything at high school was friendly between them.

Owens tells him that Billy wont talk about anything up to a few months before the mindflayer. It's not even clear if Billy remembers it at all. So it really narrows down anything they have in common to those few unhappy interactions.

Less than 24 hours since he arrived, Steve is sitting in the small room on an uncomfortable stool staring at Billy Hargrove. They're separated by a scant five feet and a wall of carbon fiber glass. Billy is sitting sprawled on a padded chair he has dragged forward so he sits in front of them.

There's a strangely intense expression on his face as he stares at Steve.

_Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington?_

When Billy smiles, showing off those freaking teeth again, Steve turns his attention to the stack of prompt cards he has in slightly trembling hands. He clears his throat after shuffling through them, barely even reading the words. Owens smiles at him encouragingly from his own perch by the control panel for the speakers and microphone.

“When you're ready Steve-o.”

Steve's nods to him and takes a deep breath. His heart is pounding in his chest and his palms are sweating.

Owens presses down record/play on a large tape recorder beside him.

“This is Doctor Sam Owens, speaking with Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, on August first 1994.”

Owens then presses a button by the microphone. The light above it turns red.

“Billy-boy! It's good to see you home.” Owens begins with an easy smile.

“How could I stay away, Sam?” Billy replies, not shifting his eyes from Steve. His voice is raspier than it used to be, he sounds bored and a little sarcastic. Classic Billy.

“You pulled quit a number on us. I shouldn't be telling you this but, I'm actually impressed.” Owens continues.

“Were you also impressed by the make-over I gave to Briggs?” Billy's lips pull up into a smirk.

“Can't say I was a fan, no.” Owens makes it seem effortless to move on from a horrific question like that. “I hope in the future we can solve your issues by talking about them instead of eating them.”

Billy lets out a soft sounding snort.

“As you can see I've brought in Steve Harrington. I thought you might like to have a chat with him today.”

Owens turns to Steve then and nods encouragingly.

Steve exhales again and shifts on his stool, trying desperately not to think about having his throat torn out by Billy's teeth. Billy and Owens would probably talk about it over tea and biscuits.

“Hey, Hargrove.” Suddenly his mouth feels very very dry.

“Harrington.” Billy responds disinterestedly.

Which like, _fuck him_ , honestly.

“What you're too cool to talk to me now?” It's easier for Steve to pretend he's back in high school. It helps his heart chill out from it's knocking on his ribs.

“Always have been, _amigo_.” Billy picks at his clawed, inky black fingers. Finally shifting his gaze away from Steve, as if he's lost interest in him altogether.

“That why you broke into my place and tried to eat me?”

Billy snorts again.

“If I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead already, pretty boy.”

“So it was just what, a social call? You missed me, Hargrove?”

“I wanted to see what the King of Hawkins high was up to. Turns out he's a cop. Didn't know you had it in you.”

“Did knowing I'm a cop make you cream your pants or something? Is that why you pinned me to my bed?”

Billy's jaw clenches and his eyes narrow, flicking up to Steve's. He doesn't respond. Steve feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise and he claps a hand over them. His slowly calming pulse kicks back into gear. His nipples pebble.

_What the fuck, though._

Owens clears his throat and hits the button by the microphone to turn it off. He turns to Steve.

“How about we keep it nice and friendly for the first meeting. Ease into it.”

“Yeah, fine.” Steve nods and frowns, looking down at his prompt cards. He manages to still his shaking hands enough to flip through them. They're all either about basket ball or cars. Pretty safe stuff. He'd even be happy to talk about various cheeses or Star Wars for hours so long as it gets Billy to stop glaring at him like that.

The mic crackles back on.

“D'you play basketball still?” Steve blurts.

The look Billy gives him is one of disbelief and annoyance. Which is great because it means he doesn't look like he's murdering Steve with his mind any more.

“Does it look like I have a ball and a hoop in here?”

Steve feels his face flush.

“Jeez, I don't know man, you could have like, a recreation room or something.”

“Mommy and daddy don't buy us everything we want, _Harrington_.” Billy sneers.

Honestly, Steve is having a harder time than he's ready to admit. It sounds like Billy, sure, but there's something really off about how he talks at the same time. Like it's an act. Like he's remembering how this kind of talk goes and he's mimicking it from past interactions.

It feels hollow.

The anger had felt real though. A little too real.

Steve scrambles for a new topic as Owens motions for him to keep talking.

“Heard any good music – or shit, no, sorry that was a stupid question.” Steve grimaces at himself.

Billy leans forward then, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Bring me some.”

“Huh?” Steve blinks.

“Bring me some music. Play it over the coms.” His expression has turned intense again, but not angry.

“You want me to make you a mix tape? That sounds like third date kinda stuff, don't you think?”

Billy's eyes narrow.

“Bring me some decent music and I'll leave you alive when I bust out next.”

And really, how can Steve turn down an offer like that?

-

“That went well!” Owens grins, clapping Steve on the shoulder and making him jump and sending a shiver through his body. And _oh boy_ isn't that reaction a little disturbing.

Steve doesn't have time to reflect on it, as Owens is ushering them out of the little room.

Owens is pleased, he's grinning and hailing one of the guards over, immediately requesting a stereo for Steve. Steve on the other hand has sweat patches under his armpits and a buzzing feeling rushing through his veins. He feels like he's been watching a shark circle him, but so far at least from a distance.

He doesn't think the tape deck is going to save him from a shark.

“He's very receptive to you, Steve-o. More than I was expecting!”

Steve doesn't know what to say so he just shrugs lamely and follows Owens out of the labs.

“I'm going to make a plan for your next visit with him. I was wondering if you might try talking to him about some of your shared experiences at school. It might make him a bit more comfortable to build up to the incident rather than just diving in.”

Which yeah, makes sense, but Steve only has a handful of memories that come immediately to mind. Every single one is of Billy being an utter asshole to him.

“Sure.” Steve says, because whatever. Billy is still an asshole, just like, a more monstrous one and Steve doesn't need to sugar coat any of it. That and he's kind of curious about what Billy remembers. _If_ Billy really is some part human or if it will be like watching a shark form human expressions.

“We'll pick this up again tomorrow. It'll probably take you a while to adjust to your new sleeping schedule so we'll make it in the morning.” Owens leads him down the hallway to the living quarters. “There's an employee lounge at the end of the hall on the right, TV, board games. Feel free to go in and make friends.”

Steve stares at him incredulously. Stays staring at him as Owens bids him good bye and heads off down a corridor.

He just can't seem to hate Owens, no matter how hard he tries. He has a suspicion the doctor saved him from being assassinated with this whole deal, and while it sucks, Steve's still doing one of his favorite things. Living.

Steve eats dinner alone in the cafeteria, ignoring the swarm of lab coats and soldiers. His reality right now is that he could be on his own in the rescue department, unless he makes some allies. Sam Owens is clearly on his side but, at the same time Steve doubts he will help him escape. That leaves Billy.

Billy has escaped before. He's also a predator. So it's not the greatest choice. Still... If he can get Billy to cooperate they might just let Steve walk out, best case scenario. Worst case is he tunnels out with a spoon.

There's a stereo is waiting for him back in his rooms. Sitting on his desk with a bunch of blank tapes beside it. Steve sighs and sits down on his bed, playing with the antenna and flicking through the radio stations.

He spends his time before bed hitting record when he hears something decent come on; trying to remember the kind of music Billy enjoyed back in high school. He might also have slipped some WHAM! In there and a little bit of The Police for his own sanity.

-

Steve sleeps poorly that night.

He realizes too late that he didn't bring his sleeping pills and his internal alarm clock is messed up. When he does get to sleep, his dreams are haunted by Billy. Billy who is hunting him through hallways and forests. Billy whose teeth are sharp and ready to rip into his throat. Billy who's face opens up like a flower.

Steve wakes up with pulse thundering in his ears and drenched in sweat and something else... He stares down at his tented underwear and knows with sudden intense certainty that he is a lot more messed up than he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. I get to post the main reason I made this fic so far into the future. I'm not even kidding. it was the whole inspiration for the fic in the first place. It just got way out of hand and I can't even be mad about it.
> 
> Lyrics from the song (Which I love a ridiculous amount), Send me an Angel - Scorpions - 1990 from the album Crazy world.  
> Which I do not own or have permission to use. So just be cool.

Steve has a shower in the communal bathroom – which reminds him alarmingly of Hawkins High locker rooms, only the guys are older, hairier and less likely to cover their older, hairier junk.

He tries to avoid any and all conversation above cordial greetings, even when he heads to the cafeteria. He even manages to grab an empty table and eat a little of the omelet and drink a few sips of coffee for breakfast before Owens finds him. Owens groans a little as he eases his tired body into the empty chair opposite Steve; his own coffee in hand. Steve waits expectantly, fork still poking at his eggs. He _really_ doesn't feel like talking after the night he had.

“So I thought it is about time we have a little conversation.” Owens begins. “Billy seems to talk more with you than he has with anyone else. I wonder if we can't use that.”

Steve sets his fork down and rests his forearms on the table.

“You want me to poke the bear?”

“Gently! Just to see how receptive he is to discussing, say... Maxine's involvement in the fight against the mindflayer. Or, anyone else involved he might have a connection to.”

Steve frowns and stares into his coffee.

“If we start off with something small, we might be able to build him up to the harder stuff.” Owens takes a sip of coffee. “We know from trying in the past that anything too close to the incident of his possession only makes him lash out. For example: he is open to talking about swimming but not about being a lifeguard. It's like a switch in his brain. The slightest mention and the conversation is over, instead we have this wild monster ripping his room and himself apart.”

Steve swallows thickly. He is pretty certain he doesn't want to see what Owens means by that. It sends a shiver running up his spine.

“The music idea is a good one. Let's use that, see what we can get. Are you going to eat that?” Owens gestures to Steve's eggs. Steve shakes his head and downs the last of his coffee. He stands with Owens and they make their way towards Steve's least favorite place on the planet.

Billy is waiting for them when they enter the little recording room. Sprawled out casually on that chair like he's soaking up sunshine on a beach somewhere. He's flipping through a car magazine and doesn't even look up to greet them.

“You got my music, pretty boy?” Billy asks, turning a page.

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow and makes an effort to calm himself down.

“Depends. You got any manners?” Steve can still hear that wrongness in Billy's voice. That hollowness. He wants to know what's really under that devil may care tone.

Billy finally looks up from his magazine and scoffs.

“Oh, sorry, _mom_.” He closes it and drops it casually on the floor. “May I _pretty please_ listen to the tape you made me?” It's all sneered, all high school Billy. Steve doesn't believe for a second that it's not an act. Steve's a cop. He's seen shit. He knows shit about people and how they behave.

Billy's not Billy. At least not the one he knew.

Steve pretends to think it over, fingering the tape thoughtfully before handing it to Owens. He notices how Billy's eyes are trained on his every movement, hidden beneath those eyelashes. Like a predator eyeing prey.

Goose bumps rush over Steve's skin at the thought, he tries to suppress a shiver.

Owens plays the mix tape over the speaker and the powerful guitar of ACDC echoes through the room. Billy's posture changes immediately. His shoulders relax, he sinks down into the chair and closes his eyes. Just listening.

They stay like that, listening to the first four songs on the tape in perfect companionable silence. Billy doesn't even bat an eyelid Steve's choice in pop music when it comes on. Which is a little weird, Steve was sure it would get a reaction. He was counting on it even.

Owens stops the tape and Billy's expression turns belligerent as he cracks his eyelids open. He stares accusingly at Owens.

“I'm happy to play more after a chat. Billy, that's the deal.”

Billy sneers and twists in the chair, kicking his feet up over the arm rest. But he doesn't argue.

Owens motions to Steve and Steve exhales slowly through his nose.

“Do you remember Nicole's party? You became King of the keg stand.”

“What about it?” Billy sounds bored. Put upon.

“That was the first time we officially met. You just decided right then that you were going to come for me. For that stupid fucking crown.” Steve folds his arms and frowns.

“So what. You never fought for anything in your life before? Nah, everything was just handed to you on a silver platter, wasn't it, Harrington?”

“You know jack shit about me. I was already having a pretty shitty night, man.” Steve's not really sure if he's talking about back then or last night.

“You want me to kiss it better?” Billy snarks, not even looking Steve's way. He stretches out a bit and motions to Owens, wrist rolling in a royal gesture for 'play the tape.' Like the conversations over.

It pisses Steve off, actually.

Like, how can he just pretend that Steve was not this weird target for him. Like it all meant nothing to push Steve around and make his life hell. There's not even any emotion behind his jabs, it's like it just all means nothing.

“Do you remember that time you beat the shit out of me?” Steve pushes.

There's a pause and Billy's eyes open a fraction to glance at Steve. A smirk crosses his lips.

“You were creeping on my sister, what were you expecting, _amigo_?”

“I wasn't. I was baby sitting, you broke a goddam plate over my head. I still have the scar.” Steve watches keenly. He's looking for that spark of emotion, of realness in Billy.

“I can't help that blood and bruises suit you, _pretty boy._ Did you ever learn to plant your feet?”

 _There. Right there_. Steve wishes he had it on video. There's a moment of _something_ in Billy's expression. Not pleasure or regret, no it's something else entirely.

“Go fuck yourself.” Steve spits. “You were going to kill me.”

“And then who would I have to talk to now?” Billy grins, feral.

The expression is there again and it takes Steve a moment to realize what it is.

It's _hunger._

Steve's blood runs cold.

No matter how human the talks seem, Steve is suddenly very painfully aware that whatever Billy is now, it's not human. Billy is using his humanity like fucking _bait._

He feels sick.

He waves Owens to play the tape again and stumbles out of the room. He's trembling, angry.

Fucking determined.

-

It takes him some time to come up with a plan. He's not like Nancy or the kids. He has to think things over until he's sure. He tells Owens he's got a plan and it's not a _whole_ lie.

He keeps their chats simple, easy. Mostly about the music that Steve plays, or about some of his more entertaining police stories.

On day four Steve decides it's time to push for a real response from Billy. He puts in an order with Owens for something special. Owens gives him a strange look but he clearly does it anyway, as it's waiting in Steve's room after dinner.

Still in it's little tape box, the picture of a hand holding a key to unlock a door splashed over the front. He's tempted to put it on, have a listen, but he decides in the end he wants to do that with Billy instead.

When the time comes they sit staring at each other like every other day. Owens manning the recorder and the coms.

Steve is flipping the little cassette over and over in his fingers while Billy watches him, boredly.

“Something on your mind, princess?”

“Yeah, actually.” Steve looks up to meet those too blue eyes and their thousands of lashes. “You remember that night we fought and you smashed my face in?”

Billy continues to look bored, he's losing interest in the conversation already.

“Are we doing this again? What about it?”

“I should tell you the reason we were all there, at the Byers place.”

Billy shrugs at him and begins picking at his teeth with one long claw. He sinks down in the chair and spreads his legs out lazily at the knee.

Steve bites his lips, suddenly nervous. He spares Owens a glance before he sits up straighter. Holding up the tape in his hands for Billy to see.

“There's a catch.”

Billy's eyes narrow a fraction, his expression shifts. Not bored any more.

“The catch is, you're not going to like what I have to say. But if you let me say it...” Steve waggles the tape. “I'll let you listen to the Scorpions album that came out while you were gone. You like them right?"

Billy sits upright and looks from the tape to Steve with unnerving intensity. It's so quiet Steve can hear the slow roll of he tape recorder in the background. Owens is looking very interested all of a sudden.

The silence drags out a little longer before Billy makes a strange throaty hum.

“Deal.”

Steve feels himself relax a little. But like, not _too much._

“The night you came to get Max, we'd been attacked by monsters.” Steve begins. “The real kind, with heads that open up like flowers filled with teeth. The kids call them Demodogs.” He watches Billy's expressions carefully for any sign of him freaking out.

Billy is tense, his eyes bore into Steve's. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

“Our friend El killed one in the Byers living room with her mind. Then she took off with Hopper to try and close the gate these things were coming through. The dead Demodog was stuffed inside the fridge when you came over. That's why Max was there. She got caught up in the whole mess, and I'm really sorry about that, but like, I was sort of thrown into it too.” Steve frowns at himself. “I was keeping the nerds from running towards the nest that the Demodogs made under Hawkins.”

Steve pauses. This is the part where old Billy would call him deranged or a pervert. But he doesn't. He looks like he's shaking at the seams, like something is going to burst out of him. His lips peel back from his teeth and he lets out an agonized sounding scream. He stands up abruptly and begins pacing and hitting himself in the head with the meat of his fist.

Billy's body jerks about violently like a switch blade and he breathes heavily out through his nose.

Steve opens his mouth to speak again but Owens flicks off the mic.

“Shh, just let him work this out.”

Steve nods and swallows, watching Billy through concerned eyes. It's hard to watch, and he can't help but move his stare to the tape in his hands instead. Then he remembers how relaxed Billy is around music and he shakily holds it out to Owens.

“Put it on, I think it will help.”

Owens nods and carefully sets the tape in the weird and bulky looking scientific tape deck. The metallic sound of guitar fills the room. Klaus Meine's voice rings out over the speakers as Tease me Please me plays over the coms.

It's not immediate, but Steve can see the change in Billy's posture, it loosens up. He slows his pacing until he's just standing in place with his eyes squeezed shut and his fists clenched. His breath comes in sharp hard bursts, like he's trying to wrestle it under control.

It takes the entire song for Billy to slowly ease himself back into the chair. His eyes remain closed and his expression stony. It's like he's hiding behind a wall inside himself. Steve has the uncomfortable sensation that if he were to try to talk or reach out right now he'd be met with that wall like he's run into it at full speed. So he stays quiet.

Owens just watches, expression softer, hands resting on the desk.

It's not Steve's kind of music, he can appreciate the skill but it's not until the fourth track that Steve finally _gets it._ The Winds of Change start up, a talented whistle jerking him out of his thoughts. Yeah the album so far hasn't really been his thing but the Winds of Change is good, like, _really good._

Billy must hear it too because his shoulders relax and his eyes half open, staring at nothing in front of him. His fists slowly unclench and he seems to breathe out a sigh of relief or just relaxation.

They sit in silence listening to the whole tape.

Steve lets himself drift a bit, thinking through the way Billy had reacted, the way he's built up walls. What Max had told him about Billy's home life. He's familiar with a lot of it, seen it at work, the defensive nature of his movement and bark. Hit before getting hit.

Steve can relate a bit. His own dads temper was pretty wicked, not physical but he'd shut Steve off from the world when he as mad. Sent him to his room and not let him out or talk to him for days. It would have just been a regular week for Steve if he hadn't been cut off from his friends.

The anger and resentment Billy must feel paired with the trauma of the mindflayer must be astronomical.

They stay like that for the whole tape, still and listening. Waiting for _something_. Steve's not sure what.

When the last song begins to play, Steve feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He jerks his gaze upwards to find Billy staring at him again.

_Hear this voice from deep inside  
It's the call of your heart  
Close your eyes and you will find  
Passage out of the dark _

Billy's expression is a mixture of emotion. Determination, fury, desperation and pain. Steve doesn't buy it. He's seen it now. Under all that acting is hunger. Like a black hole that is pulling everything towards it.

Steve can't look away. Billy lowers his eyelashes, but he's still watching Steve like the shark coming ever closer for the kill.

_Here I am_

_Will you send me an angel_

Something inside Steve trembles. He has the absurd need to cry. The reflection of human emotion is too much.

In his minds eye he sees Maxine crying over Billy's body like she had that night in Starcourt. It had broken his heart then, and it's breaking his heart now. He can't watch Billy's corpse fake it's way to life any more.

He ignores Owens protest as he stands, gives the guards a heavy look until they let him through the door. Then Steve is fleeing to his room.

He prays Maxine never finds out about this, that Billy's evil clone gets miraculously destroyed.

He cries like he hasn't done in years. He's not even sure which of them he is crying for, maybe Billy, maybe Max, maybe himself.

The reality is, he can't keep pretending that he doesn't know what Billy isn't. But what makes it worse is Steve starts to dream about him every night. He wakes up achingly hard and terrified and he doesn't know why.

-

After that incident Billy stops talking altogether unless they bring him music.

'Send me an Angel' is his most common request.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has non consensual cuddling and grinding. It's not explicit but I feel like warning is due.  
> For anyone with concerns, this is the worst it will ever be in the non-con department, I have absolutely no plans to take that any further.  
> If you think the rating or any tags need to change let me know.

His second week seems to sluggishly ooze by. Steve's slowly going crazy from being stuck in the facility. He makes a concentrated effort – when he is not being forced to talk with Owens or Billy, to be at the 'recreation room' running hard on a treadmill or trying to do pull ups without popping a blood vessel. Just in case he has to run or climb his way out of here. It could happen.

Steve's made a decision after the last time Billy forced him to listen to Scorpions. No more jokes or insults, he's going to ask the questions, play the damn music and get out of the room. DemoBilly can find someone else to torture. He's _done._

On day two of this new tactic, Owens notices something has changed. Unfortunately so has Billy.

Steve asks questions, but as if Billy has sensed him pulling away, he too retreats. Billy barely talks to Steve beyond what's asked, he makes no attempt at the verbal sparring they once did. He makes his tone as uncaring as Steve's is, copies his posture even.

Owens seems frustrated. Steve shrugs him off.

DemoBilly (Evil-Billy? Nega-Billy? _Bad Billy?_ ) is pissing Steve off. He's playing against Steve's new tactic like they're on the courts. Steve goes one way, Billy follows – hugging his goddam ass.

He flat out ignores any questions remotely related to the mind flayer. Puts his fingers in his fucking ears like a child and sings loudly to drown them out.

Frustrated, Steve tries being overly friendly next. Billy mirrors him but with a curl to his lips, so Steve knows nothing about it is genuine. Even Owens looks skeptical, and a little weirded out.

Three days into the second week and Billy doesn't even get off his bed to sit at the window any more. Like talking with them is a waste of his precious time.

It's actually a waste of _Steve's_ time. He could be... fuck, like, working night shift or drinking or _something_. Instead he's here, because _DemoBilly_ decided to hug him in his sleep. Steve still doesn't know _why_ that happened, and he is still having erotically terrifying dreams about it. _Thanks_. So in a fit of pique near the end of the week, Steve gets his stool nice and close to the glass, and angrily tells Owens to start the recording tape.

Steve doesn't hand over a music tape this time, instead he grabs a handful of the stupid flash cards – which have been sitting uselessly on the desk all week, and begins reading through them belligerently. He's flinging them like ninja stars over his shoulder when he's done, all the while watching Billy flip through his magazine, ignoring them while he lays sprawled out on his little bed.

Owens opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and reaches to turn the microphone off first.

“Leave it!” Steve barks, waving him away from the switch frantically.

Owens looks surprised but also kind of interested. He leaves the mic on.

“Hey, Billy.” Steve snaps, kicking the glass with his worn out work boot. Billy continues to ignore him. “Remember that time you worked as a life guard all summer?”

Billy stiffens and lowers the magazine to glare at him. Steve glares back.

“Yeah, you remember. That was the summer the Keg King got possessed!”

Billy's lips peel back from his shark teeth and he raises his hands to his ears, and Steve reaches over, across Owens to crank up the mic volume.

“Then you got Heather possessed! Remember her? Then you got her parents. They're all dead by the way, that's not a _fucking coincidence_!”

Billy snarls, spittle flying from his lips. He launched himself off the bed and charges to the glass. His hands scoop up his desk chair and he slams it against the barrier between them over an over. It does nothing more than rebound with a metallic clanging each hit until it's flung it across the room, in pieces. Billy stares Steve right in the eye and roars at him; Veins standing out on his neck, eyes wild and wide with rage.

But Steve is angry too. He wont stop talking. He wont stop Telling Billy about what he had done as the mindflayers puppet. He wont break eye contact and let Billy win.

Billy starts trying to punch through the glass, leaving smears of dark blood across it. When that fails he tares at his own hair until his rage finds a more useful target. He lunges across the room and literally climbs up the wall. His movements are jerky with rage and urgency as he uses the corner to find leverage for his feet and arms. He then rips the communication system right out of the ceiling corner and smashes it against the floor, dropping down after it to kick it until its in pieces on the floor.

The silence that falls between them all is thick. Billy is heaving for breath, but suddenly eerily calm, staring down at the destruction at his feet.

Owens looks a mixture of shocked and pained.

Billy raises his eyes to meet Steve's again with clear challenge. Exactly the look Billy had given him at Tina's birthday party all those years ago.

Steve feels his heart jump. Had he- was it possible Billy was still in there somewhere?

Owens sighs and reaches over to a little dial that Steve hadn't really paid much mind to before. A stream of some kind of gas enters Billy's room. Billy doesn't react, doesn't even look away from Steve. Instead, he drags his tongue along his teeth, slowly. A mimicry of his old habit.

His body sags as the gas fills his lungs, he fights to stare Steve down until he can't keep his eyes open any more.

Steve leaves the room when Billy's body hits the floor, out cold.

Steve's exhausted and mentally drained when he has made his way back to his room. He falls onto his stiff cot of a bed, unable to stop picturing Billy's defiance on repeat in his head.

It takes him a long time to relax – he has to make a conscious effort to loosen each muscle group. And even then Steve's afraid to sleep, but he hates being awake just as much right now.

He tells himself off for continuously forgetting to ask for sleeping pills, but the reality is, deep down, he doesn't want them. He wants to dream and remember dreaming. He wants the nightmares – for all their horror and pain, he can't help but want them. He tells himself it's only because they make him feel alive. He tells himself that he doesn't look forward to them – that the rush that comes with the feeling of being hunted down is not addictive. That the fear and the pain are not an aphrodisiac.

He tells himself his nightmares have not evolved so that he sees Billy's face with those teeth every time – that he doesn't wake up hard and aching until he spills over his fist to the thoughts of Billy pinning him down, sinking those teeth into his skin.

Steve doesn't want to see Billy any more.

He tells Owens he's sick. It's not a lie, he had thrown up when he woke up from the last dream... It was just after he had spent himself all over his stomach while his heart pounded like a war dumb in his ears.

Owens sends him a medical doctor. Steve doesn't even need to exaggerate his trembling hands or pained headaches. The doctor declares Steve is suffering from stress symptoms and recommends he take a few days to rest up. So Steve does exactly what his father trained him to do from an early age. He isolates himself. He gets up for food and to piss, then goes right back to his room to sleep or to the recreational room to run and run and run until he can barely move his legs.

He knows it's a brief respite. He will have to face Billy again eventually, but he's going to be ready for it when he does.

He manages three days until Owens is back to sitting opposite him in the cafeteria.

“It's funny,” Owens muses, staring off into the distance while Steve shoves his porridge around the plate. “Before you came to this facility, Billy was barely human. He went through the motions, sure, but you could see there was more beast in him than man.” Owens smiles ruefully and turns his eyes back on Steve. “The day you show up in that little room of his, it's like he suddenly remembered what it was like to be human again. He started 'playing' with you – poking back when you poked him. He was even enthusiastic about his meetings, pulled up a first row seat and everything. He's never done that.”

“So what? What does any of that matter? He's not human, he's just hungry. He's just biding his time, playing the long game.” Steve puts his spoon down heavily,letting it clang against the table top. He's avoiding looking Owens in the eye. Steve doesn't want to be made to feel special or guilty. He's angry and sick with stress. _He shouldn't even be here_.

“And yet, when he escaped he went to you. He compromised himself to find you.” Owens gives him a pointed look. “Do you want to know what I think?” He doesn't even give Steve a moment to reply. “I think he was looking for his humanity, and he found it the moment he saw you.”

Steve wants to scream.

Owens watches his face, his own expression softening into something close to sympathy.

“Take a few more days. Think it over, then we'll talk.”

Steve can only nod numbly as Owens gets up, patting him kindly on the shoulder before he leaves.

-

Steve's mind is a battle field that not even running can pacify. He spends the day trying to find a physical solution. The T.V and puzzles don't help. Neither does trying to get Bert or Ernie to talk. The scientists and doctors around him just make him angry. Eventually he scalds himself under the host spray of the showers until he's scrubbed red and hazy from the heat, and wanders back to his room.

Steve dresses in a pair of his old sweat pants and a loose t-shirt and sinks back onto his hard bed, staring up at the ceiling until his eyes begin to itch. With a sigh he leans over to switch on the stereo. He listens to the perky, happy talk of the radio hosts as they play stupid pranks on each other between commercials and music. Laying there, he drifts in and out of consciousness to the sounds of their voices. 

In his dreams he's in the tunnels of the demodogs again – walking through the maze of vines and floating motes of spores. He's wearing nothing more than what he went to bed in, with a torch in his hand. His bare feet tread carefully over vines and rock. It's silent, but for the soft sound of something wet ripping and dripping ahead. 

He knows whatever it is will not be good, but he can't seem to stop himself from moving ever forward towards it. His breath is deep and even, but his torch hand shakes the light. He rounds another corner and the light suddenly catches something pale. A crouched figure dressed in a dirty white singlet and jeans. Steve already knows who it is, even before the monster turns around. 

The lower half of Billy's face is covered in blood, his teeth tugging meat from bone. His eyes catch and reflect in the light of the torch, like a cat in the dark.

They stare at each other for a moment. Then Billy stands.

Steve turns and runs. 

Billy lets out a deep and eerie growl and Steve can hear him charging behind him. Steve doesn't turn to look. He just runs – slipping and sliding over roots and slimy vines. He can't seem to run fast enough; he feels like he's moving through molasses with Billy gaining on him at every useless step.

Steve knows the point where Billy is going to catch him, he can feel it in his blood. His heart is thumping wildly. 

And then...

He wakes up gasping and whining into the silence of his room. 

Steve tries to sit up – to push himself from the sweaty bedding he's trapped in. But there's a solid weight forcing him down, trapping him against the mattress. He can't see what it is in the dark of the room but he has a sinking feeling that makes his heart slam into his ribs. His arms are pinned to his sides by a wall of solid muscle.

He whimpers involuntarily.

The weight above him shifts and Steve feels breath puff against his neck.

Steve is terrified. Steve is  _hard._ Something he's made  _very_ aware of when the weight on him shifts again, pressing his dick uncomfortably against his stomach in the process.

He swallows another whimper and forces himself to breathe slowly.

“Billy?”

He feels something cool and wet slide up the side of his neck towards his jaw. Something like an electric shock runs through Steve's body at the contact.

“What the shit?! _What the fuck, Billy!?_ ” Steve struggles to shove the body from him. It's a wasted effort, but no one will ever say Steve didn't _try._

Steve can feel Billy's smile as it stretches his lips against Steve's skin. Billy lets out a low rumbling growl his weight coming down forcefully and purposefully. He's settling down on top of Steve so they're pressed firmly together, torso to torso. He lowers his mouth to the vulnerable flesh just below Steve's ear and inhales. Steve goes perfectly still when he feels the follow up is those sharp teeth press just so, against his skin.

“Hey- hey! Wait!” Steve is trying to control his very sudden need to scream.

Honestly? He always figured it would be the Upside Down that killed him. He just thought he'd be super old when it happened.

He's not even thirty yet.

“I always thought you were a freak, Princess.” Billy rumbles in his ear, pointedly rolling his hips into Steve's body's shameful reaction.

“This is a nightmare. Oh god, this _has_ to be a nightmare.” Steve is mortified when a shock of pleasure spikes through him.

“Not very smart to insult me right now, Harrington.” Billy almost croons.

Steve squirms trying to get away, or at _least_ get his cock away. He's met with another warning growl and the sharp points of teeth poking his neck.

Steve stops moving abruptly.

“Wh- why? Why – how are you here?”

“I was getting all lonesome in my cell. Owens said you were sick, so I thought, hey, why not stop by and keep my old _amigo_ company.”

Steve inhales sharply when he feels a cold nose? Rub against the side of his neck.

“Okay, sure, yeah. Thanks for- yeah.” Steve says a little too shrilly. “Great, this is great. I feel so much better already. So much better you can probably go back to your cell-ah room.”

He feels Billy chuckle, it's a strange bounce as the expression shakes them both starting from their rib cages.

“Tch, I juts got comfortable, Harrington. Think I'm going to stay.”

Steve's heart is still thudding away, but the fear is _manageable_. He can breathe through it. He _can_. He's not going to think about how Billy can probably feel his pulse or taste his fear.

“Ohh, good- _great_. But here's the thing, you're kinda heavy and crushing my lungs, and _oh god why_ _are you on top of me!?_ ”

He feels the teeth dig into his neck, piercing his skin just deep enough to hurt. Steve flinches hard and makes a choked sounding whine that he's desperately trying to keep behind his teeth. He can smell his own blood and he nearly fucking screams when he feels Billy's tongue slide over the marks he's left behind.

The worst part is the way he's _throbbing_ in the confines of his pants. Billy rolls his hips against him again like he's trying to prove a _point_ , and Steve lets out an undignified half moan.

_Nonononono._

“Y-you fought the mind flayer and won! You took the hits for Jane, you kept her safe!” The words spill out of him urgently.

Billy's whole body goes rigid on top of Steve's. His hands squeeze Steve's wrists so hard Steve can feel his bones creak in protest.

“It kille-” Steve's interrupted by Billy's cold lips and teeth crashing against his own with an audible clack. He kisses Steve like he's trying to suck the warmth from him. Steve doesn't really _co-operate_. Like, he's just pinned there because the pressure of Billy's mouth on his has crushed the back of his head into his pillow and he can't turn away.

Steve's eyes are wide and staring into the dark, still like a statue and his mind just as unhelpfully blank. Then he feels those sharp _fucking fangs_ dig into his bottom lip hard enough to pierce. He opens his mouth to cry out, and that was the wrong thing to do because Billy's tongue just dives in.

Billy's tongue is cold, and tastes like blood. _Steve's blood_.

Steve, ever a genius, tries to bite it.

Billy gives him a warning growl, pressing the points of his teeth back against Steve's lips until Steve gives into the fact that this is happening with or without his consent.

Steve endures.

He thinks of America, apple pie, the pledge of allegiance. None of it fucking helps. He's still painfully hard and trapped in a kiss with his high school bully-turned-monster.

When Billy pulls back, finally breaking the kiss, he's breathing heavily and Steve can feel the heat of his breath against his face.

“ _Shut. Up._ ” Billy hisses.

Steve nods, swallowing thickly.

Billy lowers himself to tuck his chin into Steve's neck again. He lets out a sigh and his body goes slack.

“Go back to sleep, Princess.”

Steve feels himself nod. He totally has no intention of doing any such thing.

He stays alarmingly not asleep for what seems like hours. Billy's weight a constant pressure against his front. Billy's breath is deep and even, warming the side of his neck even while his skin is room temperature.

The silence around them is heavy, and _thank-the-fuck-christ_ uneventful enough that his little problem downstairs starts to flag.

This is Steve's life now.

He has no idea what's happening or why and he's too fucking close to those teeth to ask. His mind runs through a million different ways this could end, and none of that helps him in the least. He's plotting escapes, ways to mentally summon Bert and Ernie into the room, hell, he even considered trying to bite Billy's jugular out at some point in the night.

It's all useless bullshit.

He's probably going to die. Or at least be a lot less pretty at some point.

Do all monsters hug their food to sleep?

He doesn't know how or when, during the exhausting process of imagining all the painful ways he's about to be ended, that he finally falls asleep. But when he wakes up to his obnoxious radio alarm in the morning, he's very alone and still very alive.

As far as he can tell.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain hurts. But we are ready for launch at last!

Steve sits bolt upright with a gasp as the nights events crash in on him. His eyes dart frantically around his room, searching for threats in the dark before he reaches out blindly, with a shaky hand, knocking everything off his bedside table as he fumbles to turn on the lamp.

It flicks on, blinding him for a few moments and he grimaces into the glare of it. His room is blessedly free of monsters, in fact, there seems to be no evidence of Billy having been there at all.

He waits in the silence of his room – listening to the soft sounds of people starting their day. No noise of alarm or panic at an escaped Billy; no one banging frantically on his door or loud penetrating alarms ringing down the halls with flashing lights and doors that seal themselves shut.

For all the lack of reaction, Steve might have thought it was a nightmare – if he hadn't felt the sting on the side of his neck. It's enough to jolt the idea that I was a nightmare right out of Steve's head. He leaps from his bed in a tangle of limbs and sheets, nearly tripping over as the stiff linen catches around his ankles. He flings himself into the hallway, dodging a few surprised scientists with their scalding coffees as he runs to the bathroom, still in his pajamas.

Steve has a moment of panic when he gets in front of the mirror. He has to grab onto the little sink with both hands, white knuckle tight. He's pale, with dark smudges under his eyes. He's got a few more grey hairs around his temples since arriving down here – and he really needs a shave. But also, _yes,_ there are a few cuts along the side of his neck and on his lips reflected back at him. They definitely hadn't been there when he went to bed.

It sends a chill down his spine as he tentatively runs his fingers along them. The cuts don't look as bad as he thought they would – considering how much they sting. They're red, inflamed, but no more than four or five in all dotted along his throat and his lower lip. He hastily washes them out as best he can, shuddering as he relives the phantom feeling of Billy's mouth on his skin.

It takes him a few solid breaths to gather himself.

It's mostly a shock to see that he has the look of a lost fawn stumbling around a room full of wolves. Otherwise he looks the same. No weird black veins or deep infection crawling through his body. No need for the churning panic he's stuffing back into his stomach.

Steve's never been a coward before. Not even in high school. Not even when Billy beat his face in. He didn't back down from evil Russians or demodogs. He's been through shit few people can imagine, and then some more working in New York.

The difference between now and then – he's only got himself to protect. And like, isn't that enough?

His large eyes slowly lose their panic, instead he frowns at his reflection. He's dealt with Billy before, he's dealt with demodogs before. _So what_ , they're just in one package now, that just evens out his odds. He didn't spend years in training himself into lean muscle and combative training to roll over now.

Still, his hands tremble a little when he pries them from the sink and stands up straight. He combs his wild bed hair down with his fingers and forces himself to breathe.

_Now, what? What is the action to take from here?_

With a bolstering breath he marches purposefully back to his rooms. He'd be all fire, stomping his way down the halls with a purpose if he wasn't so baffled by how normal everything seems. No one is alarmed, it all seems perfectly fine, leisurely paces all around as if a murderous monster isn't on the loose.

He dresses into a pair of dark blue jeans and a black collared shirt; done up to the top button – like armor. If they'd let him keep his guns he would have his holsters on, but they took those away with his badge.

Just one more thing to be pissed off about. His steel toed work boots will have to do.

Steve fixes his hair up hastily, not spending his usual time fixing it all into place, and heads out towards the labs. Owens is in discussion with one of the techs when Steve arrives. Steve walks right up to him, interrupting his conversation without hesitation.

“Billy was in my room last night.” He says, a lot calmer than he actually feels.

Owens looks surprised, as does the lab tech. They stare at him with their mouths agape. Owens recovers first, his brow knitting into a concerned frown.

“Steve-o! It's good to see you out and about! Billy's in his room, where we left him.”

“What?” Because honestly that makes _no fucking_ _sense_.

Owens watches his face with mild alarm. He excuses himself from the tech and moves quickly to the observation room with Steve in tow. Bert and Ernie nod in greeting and step inside with them from their post outside the door.

Billy is laying on the floor, doing his work out routine.

Steve stands there watching him, a mix of anger and confusion swirling through his mind.

Owens is talking, Steve isn't listening. His feet carry him right up to the glass so he can examine the room. It's all secure and normal looking, not a speck of dust out of place. Steve's not sure what he was expecting – claw marks and broken furniture, maybe.

Billy doesn't even glance at him, just keeps doing his stupid amount of sit-ups like he's all alone.

Steve's mind is a whirlwind of chaos. Being this close, he can't stop the feeling of his skin crawling at the shadow touch of Billy's teeth at his neck. The weight of Billy crushing down on him and the shameful spike of arousal that brings. His fists clench, he can feel his jaw tighten up.

“Steve? Steve!” Owens grips his shoulder and Steve turns sharply.

“Hey.” Owens speaks calmly. “It's okay, I think you might have had a very vivid nightmare.” He's gently leading Steve away from the glass. “Come on, let's get something to drink and we can have a chat about it.”

Steve shrugs Owens hand off his shoulder angrily.

“If it was a nightmare where did these come from?” Steve raises his jaw and shows off the cuts that are in the juncture of his throat and shoulder, as well as the ones around his lips.

Owens looks them over carefully then lets out a hum of consideration.

“Looks like you got a little too enthusiastic with a razor.”

“Bullshit!” Steve barks. He's wound up, this whole situation has got him fraying at the edges and he thinks he's just reached his fucking limit.

Bert and Ernie tighten their grips on their guns, like Steve's the threat, and not the monster in the other room.

Owens raises his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Hold on, now, let's take a breather here.” He motions the two goons to ease off. “Why don't you tell me what happened?”

Steve nods, unclenching his jaw slowly.

“I woke up with Billy crushing me. He bit my neck!”

Owens looks like he's trying to read Steve's mind. He has 'warm and concerned father figure' written all over his face.

“I'll tell you what, Steve-o, I'll go look at the security tapes. Okay? Make sure there was no funny business.”

“I know the difference between a nightmare and reality.” Steve replies stubbornly, crossing his arms and nodding towards Owens suggestion.

Owens smiles encouragingly as nods back and slips out the door. Steve would like to argue to see the tape for himself but he gets the distinct impression from Bert and Ernie that they _will_ floor him if he takes one more step closer to the exit.

Instead he turns back to Billy, watching him move onto push-ups; like he's training for the boxing match of his life and there's a musical montage waiting for him. Steve glares and throws himself at the communication desk where Owens usually sits.

The mic is there, just waiting to be put to good use. Steve chances a quick glance at the door, Bert shakes his head slowly, maintaining eye contact, as if he can read Steve's intent rolling off him in waves. Steve grits his teeth, ignoring the urge to turn on the mic anyway. It might even be worth getting tasered.

Billy suddenly looks up catching Steve's eye on him – as if he too has registered Steve's intent to scream at him over the coms. There's a smirk on his discolored lips and Steve wants to dive through the glass and punch him.

Steve let's his glare do the talking, and Billy simply grins then flips Steve off and returns to his workout.

Steve gapes at him, stupefied. His ire rises like bile in his throat and he's about to slam his hand on the microphone switch, consequences be dammed, when Owens comes back.

He says something to Bert or Ernie, Steve can't actually tell if they're always the same two guards or not, nor does he care. They nod at Owens and one of them leaves the room, already reaching for his walkie as he heads out the door.

“So?” Steve asks impatiently.

Owens wheels over a spare seat and sits down on it with a sigh.

“I watched the tape through, Billy was here all night.”

Steve stares at him, wide-eyed.

“That's _bullshit._ He was in my room! Look at the cuts!”

“Steve,” Owens raises his hands in a gentle surrender.

“I'm not lying.” Steve spits out. “It's wasn't a fucking dream!”

Owens nods understandingly.

“I don't think you're lying, Steve.” He says, looking up at Steve sympathetically, as if Steve is clearly going off the deep end.

Steve slowly sinks into a seat, his jaw tight with defiance and anger – waiting for the other shoe to drop. He doesn't have to wait long.

“I think you are very stressed, and having very vivid dreams after a shaving accident.” Owens suggests, trying to catch Steve's eyes so he can pass on just how _concerned_ he is.

“It _wasn't_ a nightmare!” Steve slams his fist frustrated on the table. “Let me see the tape! Maybe you missed something.”

Owens pauses a moment, then lets out a slow sigh.

“I know this hasn't been an easy adjustment for you. You said yourself you are struggling to sleep through all those nightmares, so I'm going to get Doctor Ahn to look into some sedatives for you.”

“Hey! This is _bullshit!_ I didn't cut myself, that motherfucker _bit_ me _. I don't want any drugs!”_ Steve's animated now, his hands fly up in indignation, gesturing wildly.

Owens considers him for a moment then sinks back into the seat.

“Okay. So let's think about that.” He gesticulates a little, his hands keeping a nice calm energy. “He got out and came to your room instead of running for the hills. Tell me what happened next.”

Steve frowns.

“He was laying on me, biting my fucking neck when I tried to get away. Then he told me to go back to sleep.”

Owens drums his fingers on his knee. Steve knows how stupid it sounds, okay? But he's not going to pretend it didn't happen.

“Steve, I'm not discrediting that is what you saw and felt happen, but I can't think of a single reason Billy would go to the trouble. Why didn't he just escape?”

Steve slouches into his own chair.

“I don't know! Maybe he just wants to fuck with me! That's how you found him the last time, right? Why is it so hard to believe he'd do it again?”

Owens let's out a considering hum.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve gapes, at a loss.

“Billy is a complicated creature. His track record has proven his motives are based on emotion. So it is possible but not probable that he would act in that way just for a response from you.”

“So like, what, are you going to chain him up so he can't-”

Owens is already shaking his head.

“Steve, do you think, perhaps you are subconsciously trying for some kind of connection?”

Steve frowns.

“Do you think you could be projecting a wish to understand him, to be close to him into your dreams?”

“You don't believe me.” Steve says flatly.

“How he got out, and why we have no tape of it is pretty important, Steve.”

“Fuck you. How the fuck should I know? Maybe your guard is a mole!”

“What purpose would it serve anyone to let Billy out and back into his room again?” Owens seems exasperated, but politely so. Which is just, like, fucking perfect. Because it makes Steve seem all the more unhinged.

Steve slams his palms on the desk and stands up.

“I think something is going on here that you aren't telling me. I think this is _all bullshit_.”

As if the motion had made Steve extremely titillating all of a sudden. Billy stops his work out again and stands watching the interaction with interest. His eyes are narrowed, watching their body language. Steve knows he looks pissed off, upset. But he can't calm himself down. He's angry at Owens, at Billy and at himself. Did he really dream it up?

He really doesn't think so.

When Billy winks at him through the glass he fucking _knows so_.

“I think you need to have a proper nights rest, and to take the rest of your rest days seriously.” Owens says calmly.

Before Steve can react, Bert steps forward and puts a hand on his shoulder firmly.

“Fuck you.” Steve grunts out as Bert leads him out of the observation room and into the gaze of the entire science staff. Steve ignores them all. His mind is laser focused on Billy's fucking smug face and his stupid wink.

There _is_ something going on.

Bert escorts him all the way back to his rooms like a disobedient child. He wont talk to Steve beyond telling him to hurry up. Just about shoves Steve into his room and locks the door as soon as he's inside.

_Totally not suspicious._

Nancy would know what was up by now, so would the rest of the nerds. Steve's sure of it. He'd give anything to have them here. _Especially_ Erica and Robin. Erica because no one can make that girl do anything she doesn't want to do, she has a bullshit-o-meter built into her brain. And Robin because she'd know exactly what to do and say to Steve to get his head in the game.

No one has ever accused him of being a great thinker, but he's not stupid. He's got smarts where it really counts – keeping people safe. He might not be savvy like the girls are but right now, his survival instincts are on fire.

He needs to get out of here – needs to tell the others what's happening _somehow_. He hopes like hell Robin got his message, or Dustin is starting to worry about him and contacted the others. He doesn't know what he will do if he can't find a way to warn them.

Until then he's on his own. With Billy.

He slumps onto his bed, punching his pillow like an angry teenager.

Why would they let Billy wander around cover it up when it clearly happened? Why would they go out of their way to mess with Steve's head?

Steve's missing something important. There's some vital piece of information dangling in front of him that he just can't see yet.

While Steve is still racking his brain for an answer Doctor Ahn visits his room with a polite knock. Her mouth is a thin line of concern as she talks him through the medication she's pushing into his hands. There might be a warning in her voice about an injection if he doesn't show improvement, or refuses to take his meds. Steve's honestly not really listening.

What the fuck is Billy up to? Why didn't he rip Steve's throat out when he had another chance?

He waits for Doctor Ahn to leave before he drops the pile of pill bottles on the floor. His forearms rested upon his thighs as he thinks it all over, slowly from the start.

Steve begins to wonder at Billy's strange need to be near him, or talk to him like they used to at high school. How Billy shuts down when the conversations are not to his liking. It's like Billy would rather stay in a fantasy world where everything and everyone is fine and not possessed. And sure, Steve _gets_ that, possessed Billy did some messed up shit. Not wanting to relive it.. it's, well it's human nature, right?

 _Shit._ _Shitshitshit._

Billy's had no one to trust or turn to the whole time he's been re-alived, and then Steve just shows up out of the blue. Billy's just dying to get close to him, talk to him, touch him, like he's been starved of meaningful contact.

Steve starts to wonder how far Owens will go to get Billy to talk to him about the mind flayer. It's disconcerting. Steve realizes suddenly he doesn't know who Owens is or what he is capable of. Only that Hopper had trusted him before he died.

It's all conjecture, but Steve's instincts are humming. Best he can piece together, he thinks Owens made a deal with Billy the other night. _Fucker._

If they want him and Billy to work together so bad, why not give them that and then some.

Steve doesn't sleep properly for two days.

He ignores the sedatives Doctor Ahn gave him. He keeps the lights on and his eyes on the door way at night and stays in public spaces during the day. On the bright side his fitness levels are getting towards his peak when he was at the academy. So that's something.

One of the pairs of Bert's and Ernie's hang around his rooms corridor now. They aren't following him, just sort of menacingly guarding the living quarters. Owens says it's just to set his mind at ease, knowing there will be help near by, which Steve knows is utter bullshit. They'd probably open the door for Billy if he came back. No, they're watching Steve, making sure they're close enough at hand in case he tries something stupid.

Steve is, to be fair, the king of stupid decisions. So they got him on that one.

In his sleep deprived brain Steve considers tuneling through the wall with cutlery stolen from the cafeteria.

-

The night before he's due to visit Billy again, Steve lays back in his bed frowning at the ceiling. He can't stop thinking how Billy had 'died'. How hard he had fought against the monster – even as it tore into his body, he wouldn't back down. He kept Jane safe.

Steve falls into a fitful sleep to the memory, and his dreams are of that night in Starcourt, with Billy dying over and over.

When he wakes, it's not because he's screaming, or scared, or aroused, _thank fuck._ Instead he wakes up because the wetness of the tears on his face tickles his skin. An ache in his chest grows for all the times he watched Max run to Billy's fallen body.

The tears wake him well before his alarm – leaving him feeling bereft, like he's lost something important.

What was it that Owens had said to him?

_Do you think, perhaps you are subconsciously trying for some kind of connection?_

Which, like, wasn't that the whole fucking point of Steve being here? But maybe it isn't about Steve at all. Maybe it's about Billy.

He's staring at his ceiling with puffy eyes for an hour before his radio alarm finally goes off, disturbing his circular thoughts. Steve reaches over, but instead of turning it off, hits the record button.

-

The first meeting back, Billy can't make his mind up about Nirvana. He gets Steve to play 'Heart shaped box' a few times, then asks for an album from Owens. Billy moves his seat back in front of the window, he keeps his attention on Steve when they talk.

Owens is delighted. Like his Christmases have all come at once.

Steve's not over what Billy did to him. _Not even close_. He's got a few things to say about it, but he wont in front of Owens and his recordings. No, Steve needs a way to talk to Billy without all the surveillance.

That is not something he's looking forward to in the least.

He wonders if Billy knows Morse code. That would be stupid though, likely the whole lab does, but it's not like he can just straight up ask Billy to visit him at night.

“Do you know how shitty it is to not be able to swim in your own swimming pool?” Steve asks halfway through the third play through of the song.

Billy's eyes scan his face, tight, suspicious. He doesn't reply.

“A girl, Barbara Holland died in my pool because Nancy and I left her there to go have sex.”

Billy watches him, any enjoyment for the music gone from his face.

Steve huffs a little mournful laugh, runs a hand through his hair.

“It's not, like, the same. But I know a little about guilt. The whole cause and effect thing. I was lucky though, you know? I got to live through my redemption.”

Billy's face shutters off. He's glaring at Steve through the glass.

“I keep having dreams about that night. How hard you fought, what it did to Max when you died. She was always a strong kid, losing you hit her really hard, but it also gave her purpose. Now she rides dirt bikes in races and stuff. She's won a bunch of trophies. Bet you didn't see that coming.” Steve grins a bit. “She's a mechanic on the side, almost got your Camaro up and running again.”

Billy's knuckles are clenched white on his knees, shaking with the pressure.

“We used to meet up at Christmas time and salute to you and Hopper.”

“Shut up.” Billy growls. A warning.

Steve crosses his arms lazily across his chest.

“None of what I told you is bad, Billy. What happened to you wasn't your fault. What the mind flay-.”

“SHUT UP!” Billy yells. “You have no _fucking idea_ what you're talking about!”

“So tell me! Christ, Billy, you think we're just here for shits and giggles? We're going to be doing this forever if you don't fucking talk!”

Billy lurches out of his seat and starts pacing back and forward in front of the glass. It's the edge of a tantrum, Steve can see that, but he's always been too good at running his mouth.

“After everything you've been through,” Steve can hear an echo of Nancy in his head calling him an idiot but he doesn't think he can stop. “Don't you think this is a little counter productive?”

Billy's tense, and he's shaking a little. Those shakes slowly turn onto jolts and the grimace on his face shifts abruptly. It takes Steve a few beats to realize Billy's laughing.

“Counter productive?” Billy chuckles and grins at him wolfishly. It's terrifying. Those teeth are horrific.

“Yeah?” Steve swallows thickly.

“You been reading the dictionary, Harrington? Didn't know you had it in you.”

“Wow, okay, dick-head. Nice to see some things never change.”

Billy's grin grows wider, Steve really wishes it wouldn't. Then Billy's tongue – which is a nasty shade of black and blue over pink, pokes out and flicks around his lips like he's tasting the words that left his mouth. A reflection on his past habit.

“Let me ask you something King Steve.” Billy stops in front of him, his muscled coiled like he's ready to pounce through the glass. “What do you thinks going to happen to me when they get all their answers? Think they're just going to let me go? _Fuck you_.”

Steve can feel himself gaping. Because honestly, yeah, he never considered Billy's future in all this, he hadn't cared because up until recently, Billy was just a monster. Now... now he's starting to see the truth of it under all those veins and teeth. Billy's traumatized and scared. He thought his redemption was over, but he woke up again, part of the thing he had fought so hard to keep them all safe from. He's his own nightmare.

Steve closes his mouth and steps up to the glass, looking Billy in the eye, barely a foot away from him.

“I'm sorry this happened to you.” Steve says quietly, and finds he means it.

Billy stares him down, trying to dig out the lie.

“I want to help.” Steve keeps his expression open and calm, he wont back down. He watches as Billy's eyes dart quickly to Owens and back again, like a warning. Steve nods very slightly in understanding.

“Please, let me help.”

Billy swallows thickly and Steve almost misses it when he says in a low tone.

“Okay.”

Steve smiles a little at Billy. Billy just stares at him intensely. Yeah, second thoughts are already flowing through him, because Billy looks _hungry_ when Steve meets his gaze. That does things to Steve on a fucked up level, the arousal is like a hum in his veins.

Steve feels alive.

He takes a deep breath, unconsciously clenching his fists as he turns to Owens.

“I want to go in the cell.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late for this chapter because I'm on holiday! But I made it extra long to make up for it. :)

It takes a lot of convincing to get Owens to agree to let him in the cell with Billy. But not, like, too much. Just enough to make it seem like he hadn't wanted that all along.

Steve's onto him though.

He can read Owens' energy. He's practically bouncing with eagerness to get Steve in there. It's somewhere he can record what goes on. Somewhere he can get them to make real progress, under supervision.

It's insane, Steve knows, but so far in their interactions Billy hasn't really hurt him. That counts for _something_ in Steve's books, he's not happy about the night creeping, but he's going to get to that. Mostly, he owes it to Max to try. She's the main reason. He has to know for sure if Billy is himself, and he can't do that through the glass, he can't get close enough to feel Billy's energy or force him into conflict. If he's going to get out of here he needs to know if Billy's worth saving too.

Maybe then he can face Max and tell her the truth.

Owens stands with him in the observation room, giving him and Steve the run down. Billy has to make a lot of promises about not touching Steve or trying to escape and all that. His assurances seem rehearsed, like he's been through the drill a million times and Steve doesn't know how he feels about that.

“Hey.” Steve says, pushing down the talk button on the coms. “If you do anything I don't like, that's it. I wont be coming back. Got it?”

Billy stares at him, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“Got it, Pretty boy.”

Owens steps over and takes Steve's place at the microphone.

“There will be a guard in there with you at all times. One wrong move, Billy and you get the gas, understood?”

Billy's smirk breaks loose, showing off his teeth. He hasn't for a second taken his hungry eyes off Steve.

“You're the boss, doc.”

Steve feels a little shudder worm its way down his spine. He resolutely ignores it as Bert and Ernie come over and pat him down, making sure he has nothing conspicuous or weapon-like on his person.

They nod to Owens when they're done.

Owens flicks the mic off.

“Ready, Steve-o?”

“Yeah.” Steve replies shakily.

Bert and Ernie get the nod from Owens, and lead Steve from the room. He's taken through a mass of security doors, each with its very own locking system, until they reach one that is solid metal. It's bolted and reinforced, like the door of a bank safe. Billy's door.

There's a click and a beep as Bert or Ernie talks through their walkie before there's the sound of an high pitched buzz, making Steve jump a little as the lock clicks open.

His heart is pounding in his ribs, but still there's that fucked up and unwelcome warmth of arousal in his gut as the room beyond is revealed. Steve's working on that _bodily response_. It needs to not exist, please and thank you. But for now he's dealing with it, okay?

Billy is facing the far wall, hands pressed to the stone surface above his head. Bert and Ernie step in first, tasers raised high.

There's a little table in the middle of the room, two stools on opposite sides. It looks like they're about to play good cop, bad cop.

Steve has the uncomfortable urge to giggle.

Instead he takes a deep breath and steps inside – walking carefully towards the table, and resolutely ignoring the way his skin breaks into goosebumps as he gets closer to Billy. This routine Steve knows, at least, this is his element and there's a measure of comfort in that, hidden deep below his rationality.

He takes a seat at the table and waits as Bert and Ernie approach Billy, their tasers trained at him as they approach. They pull his arms none-too-gently down from the wall to cuff them behind his back, then they then back off to the doorway and stand at the ready, fingers on resting on their triggers.

Billy slowly turns around and makes a show off rolling his powerful shoulders as he approaches the table and Steve. He can't seem to hide his grin, like he's just found out it's Christmas morning and Steve's his present.

Billy makes a show of swinging his leg over the stool he's been provided and eagerly shuffles forward like he's tucking himself in for dinner. He stares at Steve as he inhales sharply, scenting the air.

“So,” Steve begins trying so hard to ignore the idea of Billy smelling him. “This is a cozy room.”

“You want to move in?” Billy grins wide.

“Nah, it kind of smells like asshole.”

Billy lets out a deep rumble that sounds like he's chuckling? He's smiling so, Steve's just going to go with yes.

“Good to see you still have a set of balls, Harrington. I was starting to wonder who gelded you.”

Steve ignores that comment but unbidden an image of Nicole springs to the forefront of his mind. He shoves it away and clears his throat.

“I thought you might be a bit more forthcoming face to face. Trust and all that.”

“Is that what you thought?” Billy's tongue darts over his sharp – so sharp teeth.

“Can we talk about family?” Steve starts, pushing forward and trying to keep his breath steady.

“What about them?” Billy looks immediately bored. But Steve isn't fooled, he can see the narrowing of Billy's pupils this close.

“I told you about Maxine before. You didn't seem happy to hear it.”

“Doesn't matter. These wank stains don't need shit on her.”

“Oh.” Steve blinks in surprise. Because of all the reasons Billy could give, Steve wasn't expecting that one. “What about your dad? Step-mom?”

“You want to talk about my old man.” Billy says flatly. “I saw he wasn't dead. Real shame.”

“What were you going to do to him before I came by?”

Billy's smile turns into something sharp, hateful. The smile of a very hungry shark. Steve bites his lower lip hard, shaking his mind from the things that look does to him.

Billy inhales slowly, subtly, not breaking eye contact, he drags his gaze up and down what he can see of Steve in a slow and purposeful way.

 _Billy knows Steve is aroused_. He wants Steve to know he knows. Steve feels his face heat up and his insides shrivel in shame.

“I had a few things in mind. Lucky for him, something more interesting came up.” Billy's predator smile fades away into something... else. Hungry again.

Steve clears his throat. He can feel his blush in the tips of his ears.

“O-okay. Yeah um..” Steve can feel himself losing this conversation fast. “So why did you follow me home? You could have made a run for it.”

There's a long silence between them. Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat and waits, maintaining eye contact. He's not going to back down no matter how shitty Billy gets. Billy stares right back, challenging at first, then there's a subtle shift, a softening around his eyes.

“I saw your face and remembered your name.” He mumbles, as if he's trying to mask it from the microphone.

“That's it?”

“I remembered everything about you. Like a slap to the face, all at once.” Billy pretends to examine the grain of wood in the table. Like it's nothing really, no big deal. “I remembered wanting everything you had. I haven't felt like that since... before.”

“That's pretty intense.” Steve murmurs, leaning back in his seat. He doesn't know what to do with his fucking arms, fold them? Lean them on the table? Gnaw them off? He's never been this nervous dealing with people he's had to question, but then, he supposes, none of them were anything like Billy.

“Why did-” Steve glances at the glass, seeing Owens peering down at them with interest. He feels himself turn red again. “Why did you climb on top of me?”

Billy glances up from the table, his grin grows wide. Steve can see the strange ridges on his face stretch with it, they don't appear to be able to open, but Steve's not really in the right mind set to worry if this is Billy's final form.

“I wanted _everything_.” Billy's tone is no more than a breath, one that seems to go right through Steve.

He feels it right to his bones.

It really takes far too long to sink in. Steve has to really concentrate on it, stick it into context and replay it in his head before it all makes sudden, painful sense. Why Billy had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame all the way through high school. Why he just couldn't leave Steve alone even when he had the title of King.

He sits there, struck dumb and gaping at Billy. Billy who's tongue is tracing his teeth like a hungry wolf. Billy who's eyes are fixated on him with intent that Steve finally understands.

“Oh.” Is Steve's very underwhelming choked out reply. He's going to need a lot of time and therapy to process this.

“ _Oh_ ,” Billy mimics.

A silence falls between them and Steve find his knee bouncing under the table anxiously. His mind is reeling, but also, he's very aware that even though his circumstances are a bit out there right now, he's been given the shitty end of the stick for far too long.

Steve's frowning to himself.

“What's the matter, Pretty boy?”

“If that's true, what you did-” Steve finds himself both blushing and glaring. “How you've treated me hasn't been cool, man.”

Billy's eyes narrow a fraction and his smile fades.

“You don't treat people like that. I don't care who you are or what you like. I've arrested people for that shit. It fucks people up- I've seen it first hand.” He raises his finger and points at Billy accusingly. “If you ever touch me like that again without my permission, I will put your arse in a fucking _zoo. I swear_.”

Billy's quiet, watching Steve's expression with complete seriousness. Steve is pretty sure Billy's going to laugh or threaten him back. There's not a lot Steve can do to him in here, Billy has to know that. He can't even refuse to see Billy, Owens will just let him into Steve's room.

“I'm trying to remember how to-... It's hard to think past instinct.” Billy says in a quiet, but serious voice. “I know when I remember things that's not how it's meant to be. It's wrong to take. I didn't mean for it to be wrong.” He hisses out between his teeth, “I just wanted to touch you more than I have ever wanted anything." A pause. "I'm sorry.”

Steve eyes him uncertainly. He really wasn't expecting an apology at all, let alone the devastating confession that follows it. Now as he watches Billy's micro expressions, he can't find anything but sincerity in them, he's not really sure why it doesn't terrify him more.

Steve's been called a bleeding heart more than once but, he believes Billy. He _has to_. If he doesn't he thinks he might start losing his mind down here working with an actual monster.

“Okay.” Steve steels his expression, keeping eye contact with Billy. He's willing to consider the apology, but he's not letting his guard down. Billy seems to sense this, he doesn't push, he just nods once and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Steve exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair in thought. If they're going for honesty and trust...

“Were you in my room the other night?”

Billy doesn't seem at all surprised or caught off guard by the question. He glances from the corner of his eye towards Owens without moving his head, then looks back at Steve.

“No.” Says Billy's mouth, but his eyes say _Yes._

_Mother fucker._

Steve clenches his jaw and tries not to scowl. He wants to ask what Billy gave Owens in return for being allowed to scare the shit out of him, but he can't do that here. Owens looks slightly more pleased than he was before and Steve wants to punch him.

If and when he gets out of here he's going to find a way to put Owens and all his lab buddies in a nice dark cell somewhere.

_Get your head in the game, Harrington._

“I'd like to talk to you like this again, Billy. But you gotta know the questions they want me to ask, they're not going to be fun.”

Billy rolls his shoulders, jiggling the handcuffs behind him as he does so.

“I know.”

“Can I trust you not to hurt me?”

Billy stays quiet for a long time, long enough that Steve doesn't think he's going to answer. Then just as Steve's about to get up to leave:

“Yes.” Billy's voice is low but without mockery.

Steve watches him for a moment, stunned, then offers a small smile.

“Okay.”

-

That night, after dodging Owens and his enthusiastic conversation, Steve goes to bed with a new perspective on his past dealings with Billy Hargrove. It takes him time to sort through them all, and yeah, it's been like, a long time so his memory is a little hazy in some areas, but it all fits somehow.

Billy Hargrove had seemed obsessed with him back then. Right up until that night at the Byers. Which Steve had nightmares about for years after, by the way – he still has the little fucking scar in his hairline from the plate. He knew inherently Billy's rage that night had not been about Steve – but even after Max had threatened to smash Billy's balls in with the nail bat he would still catch Billy watching him like he wanted to chew him up and spit him out.

Now he knows why.

Steve rolls onto his side and frowns into the lamp light of his room.

He's really not sure if he should be flattered or alarmed. That's the weird part. Billy never did anything by halves, his intensity alone in his single-minded need to- what? Possess Steve? It was creepy, sure, but also, like- okay, no, creepy still. Messed up even.

 _Tiny_ bit hot.

But! But only because of all the people in Hawkins, the Californian bad boy and chick magnet, Billy Hargrove, wanted Steve for some unknowable reason. That tickles Steve's ego a bit.

If Billy hadn't beaten his face in and been a total ass during high school, Steve might have been curious enough to fool around. Like, if he was going to pick a guy from high school, Billy had been good looking enough to be on the top of a list or two.

But then he'd just been this relentless bastard. Kind of killed the mood a bit, really.

Too intense, too wild and too much like Steve had been before Nancy.

Billy is and was the kind of intense that means just thinking about him causes Steve trouble. When he finally manages to fall asleep, he has one particularly worrying night mare where he's making out with Billy in the middle of class while all his classmates get eaten by demodogs.

And Then Billy bites his face off.

He wakes up in an embarrassingly warm and damp spot under his hips and the urge to fall into a hole and never come back out.

How he's going to get his sheets cleaned is future Steve's problem.

-

The next day after some embarrassing words with the janitorial staff, he's due in Billy's cell.

Owens gives him a taser; _just in case_.

He has to start asking about the mindflayer. That's the deal. If Billy wants one on one time with Steve he has to, well, put out, so to speak. And Steve's not going in there without some sort of protection. He's watched too many of Billy's tantrums to think he's not at risk.

Before Steve goes through the multiple doors, Owens rests a hand on his shoulder.

“He likes you, you'll be fine.”

“Physically or mentally?” Steve mutters and then says louder: “What happens to him once you have all there is to know?”

Owens falls silent for a moment, as if considering what to tell Steve.

“I've been pushing for the option that Billy works with us in case a gate opens.”

Steve frowns.

“What's the other option?”

Owens shakes his head with a rueful smile.

“I know you don't think I've been working in your best interests, Steve-o. But I want you to know, everything I have done has protected you from an untimely end. That will extend to Billy if we know we can trust him.”

Steve frowns and grits his teeth.

He doesn't like Owens, but he understands him. So if any of what he's saying is true, Steve can at the very least respect him.

“What happens to me if it all goes to plan?”

“For what it's worth, my vote is a lot of hush money and a holiday home in the Bahamas.”

“That's really not encouraging. I get the feeling your vote counts for shit.”

Owens chuckles a little and removes his hand from Steve's shoulder.

“Steve, if you can make this work you could be in a very promising position.”

Too bad Steve thinks it's all bullshit. But he can't say that, so he nods stiffly and walks through the first set of doors with his guard.

Billy is waiting for him, handcuffed and sitting at the table, the heel of his foot bouncing impatiently. When Steve enters the room his eyes light up.

“You kept me waiting Harrington. Not getting cold feet are you?”

“Why wouldn't I want to see my high school bully in a cage every day?”

Billy grins sharp, and licks his teeth.

“I used to have a few videos that started out like that.”

Steve guffaws, feeling his ears heat up. He takes a seat, already feeling the nerves spike along his spine.

“You know what I'm here for, and I've seen how well you react to it. I figure I'm going to get old and die waiting around for you to answer or I can die real quick in here.” Steve shrugs.

Billy's expression slips seamlessly from amusement into a blank mask, but his eyes are dulled, and distant with anger.

_Really easing into it, Stevie._

“Hey- hey, we can start small. Like...How does it feel to be- uh changed?”

Bill doesn't look like he's going to answer to start with, but then he gets this curious tilt to his head and he shifts his shoulders.

“Cold.” He says. His eyes flicker towards Owens then back to Steve. Steve can see the muscle in his jaw tighten and shift under his pale skin. “Like it was before – when I was possessed.”

Steve sees Owens lean forward in interest out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you explain what it was like, what's different?” Steve feels like the shittiest person in the world for asking. He can see the pain in Billy's baby blues, the avoidance and the anger it causes him.

“It's quiet.” Billy grits out. “Before he was always in my head like a buzzing. It got so loud I couldn't hear anything, the buzzing just took over.”

Steve can see Billy's knee is bouncing under the table, like Billy's trying to force out the energy he would usually use on a tantrum. His eyes catch Steve's and lock on, barely blinking.

“It got in my head, seeped into everything, fed off my pain and anger.” He leans toward Steve. “He was killing us from the inside out, you know? Like a rotten core, and I could feel him doing it to all of us. I even felt the others die.”

Steve can't look away – it feels as if he breaks eye contact Billy will fly off the handle or fall apart. A dangerous edge to perch on. Steve licks his lips nervously and watches Billy track the movement.

He doesn't want to ask Billy anything else.

Steve swallows thickly.

“And now?”

Billy stops jiggling his knee. “I can feel the buzzing sometimes, not inside me, like before – but on my skin.”

“What – what does that mean?” Steve asks with an edge of alarm.

“I'm like a bad radio signal, jumbled, distant.” Billy squirms a bit in his seat, his muscles bunching and rolling, making the dark veins under his skin shift and stretch with his movement.

“Do you think he knows you're alive, then?”

“When he is aware of you, you know it.” Billy says, his expression turning distant. “He doesn't see me.”

Steve feels a cold shudder pass over him. Will had said something similar all those years ago when he had Steve reading his comic book draft.

“If you can feel him, does that mean he's back?”

Billy finally tares his eyes away from Steve to glance at Owens – safe behind his glass wall. Owens expression is dead serious and very unlike him. He's staring Billy down, and Steve's pretty sure Owens is unaware of how suspicious that looks.

Steve files the interaction away in the back of his mind. More secrets to brave another time.

Billy shrugs lackadaisically after a beat, making his handcuffs jingle. His anger is still there but there's also something calculating, and when he looks back at Steve it's with a sharp glint in his eye.

“You want to know how it really feels to be back from the dead, Harrington?”

“Yeah.” Steve eyes him trepidatiously.

“Lift up my shirt.”

“What?” Steve blinks dumbly.

“I wont bite. I wont even move.”

Steve stares at him, mouth agape, because how stupid does he think Steve is?

Owens microphone clicks on.

“Steve-o I'm going to advise against that.”

_No, shit._

“C'mon, Princess. Don't you want to see what they did to me?” Billy sneers.

There's a challenge there, clear as day.

He's knows it's stupid but suddenly all Steve can think of is what Maxine would say if she ever finds out about Billy. She wouldn't hesitate to march over and find her answers. She'd be so pissed if she knew Steve had the chance and didn't take it.

The thought crosses Steve's mind and just lodges itself in there like a tick. He's not a coward. Billy wont hurt him. So what's his excuse?

He doesn't even realize he's moving until he's already standing next to Billy. He can hear Owens talking to him but he's blocked it out because he's watching the blue of Billy's eyes, the way his pupils dilate as Steve gets close.

Billy looks surprised and for a moment uncertain, but then the smile spreads across his lips and he puffs his chest out to give Steve an indication of where to look.

Steve can't pulls his eyes away from Bily's face. It's intimate in a way he wasn't expecting, being this close to Billy, like sharing the air is enough to connect them.

He reaches down, slow and careful, taking hold of Billy's hospital grade scrub shirt.

He swears Billy's holding his breath.

Steve's holding his.

He lifts the shirt slowly and tries to remember to breathe.

Billy's eyes flick from Steve's to his lips and back again. He's not smiling any more. He looks unsure of himself, and a little hopeful. He even shivers when Steve's fingers graze his skin.

Steve pulls his gaze downward to see the damage Billy's so readily agreed to show him.

Whatever breath he had catches in his throat.

“ _Holy shit._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then I was a jerk because I made the extra long chapter a cliff hanger.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a duel ending idea and it was driving me crazy to pick between them but I'm pretty sure I've nailed it down now. Probably another 3-4 chapters, give or take. Depends how mushy it gets in between!

The mass of puncture scars cover Billy's torso like puckered constellations. Each and every one of them the epicenter of the dark veins that crawl under Billy's skin radiating outwards. They remind Steve of a photograph he once saw of people who had been struck by lightening and lived.

In the middle of each scar is a black mass of _something –_ like Billy's flesh has grown an undercoat of demogorgon skin and it's peaking through the holes in his human flesh. It's a concentrated effort on Steve's part not to jerk his hand away in shock. He's hyper aware of Billy's eyes on him, watching him for any reaction. This tenuous thread of trust between them is so fragile and new still, Steve feels like maybe flinching away would bruise his ego irreparably. Instead, Steve hisses through his teeth hard to hold back the grimace that wants to come out.

“Do they hurt?” Steve's voice is low, empathetic. At least he hopes it comes off that way, he's so distracted by the horror before him he's finding it hard to focus.

On top of that he has the memory of how Billy got the scars in the first place playing over and over in his head. The image of the mind-flayer's flesh puppet stabbing Billy's body over and over is not something Steve has the fortune of ever forgetting. It's scorched into his mind now and forever; right at the front of the line as the biggest incident of all the fucked up things Steve has seen in his short life.

Now DemoBilly has added to that chapter.

“Sometimes.” Billy whispers into Steve's ear.

Steve shivers and glances up, startled. He then becomes very aware that he has unconsciously leaned forward to look at the scars and now he's staring into Billy's very blue eyes less an inch away from his face.

His breath catches in his throat.

Billy's pupils are dilated, half lidded under his long lashes; the very definition _bedroom eyes_. Steve swallows thickly, entranced. His pulse thudding wildly in his throat. He can feel Billy's breath on his lips, feels himself breathe it in with every inhale. This close he can make out the freckles across Billy's nose, hidden by the small dark veins that creep under his skin. 

Steve licks his lips unconsciously, and Billy follows the movement of his tongue like a hunter tracking prey.

The microphone clicks to life and Owens clears his throat pointedly. “I suggest stepping back now, Steve-o.”

Steve startles and drops Billy's shirt, allowing it to fall and cover the scars once more. He stands up ram-rod straight – his face feels like it's on fire with embarrassment. He scrambles away from Billy, nearly falling flat on his face in the process.

Billy just watches him through lowered lashes. His discolored tongue flicking out and along the fronts of his jagged teeth, as if he can taste Steve there.

The move _shouldn't_ be hot, but it goes straight to Steve's dick like it has a direct line to it. His body reacts to Billy like Steve's a fucking teenager all over again. Steve slides behind the table, trying to hide his forming chub before it gets out of hand.

He's hit rock bottom, now.

Really the only thing that helps him regain his cool is the knowledge that if he doesn't, there's going to be scientific tapes at multiple angels capturing this moment for all time.

“I think that's enough for today.” Owens voice rings out again, his tone is firm. Steve finds himself nodding along hurriedly, but he can't seem to look away from Billy – even as he backs towards Bert and Ernie.

Billy also seems disinclined to drop his gaze, he's not smiling or mocking Steve though – which is what Steve is expecting. Instead, he looks determined, considering. His eyes are a little glazed over with open lust.

Steve can't leave fast enough.

-

After fleeing the labs, because he just can't look Owens in the eye right now. Steve changes clothes to some old gym gear and finds his way back to his favored treadmill, and he starts running.

He keeps his mind carefully honed in on possible escape plans and _nowhere else_.

He runs until his lungs burn and his legs ache – until he's breathing hard and sweat keeps falling into his eyes.

Only when he's exhausted himself does he allow his mind to wander back to Billy.

Steve's never been into guys. Or monsters.

_Apparently that's changed._

A little voice inside his head reminds him of his frequent issues with keeping his body in check lately.

It doesn't make sense.

Yeah, like, _objectively_ , he knew Billy had been hot in high school, but he hadn't thought of it much beyond that. He had Nancy and then Nancy related problems, so he was a little distracted when Billy rolled into town. His heart had been bruised and had only a beat for her, so he can't really say for sure if he might have had the hots for Billy, _objectively._

The guy had been absolute asshole so the personality was a no go. Steve liked it when his crushes didn't try to kill him or make him feel like shit, thanks.

So what is this now?

What the _fuck_ is this?

“Come on Stevie, remember what Brian said.” He coaches himself as he stumbles achingly towards the showers. He remembers parts of his therapy, like, to break the problem down. Bullet point it and deal with it bit by bit.

He's apparently got a hard on for being hunted – _specifically_ by Billy if his dreams are anything to go by. His reactions are adrenaline based, he can work that much out for himself, but why it's never been an issue before, he doesn't have a clue.

Being a cop had afforded Steve the adrenaline hit he needed to feel alive after the events of Hawkins. It kept him motivated and busy – too busy to think too hard about the past. But then Nicole had happened. She made him slow down, take the less dangerous jobs. He stopped putting himself so close to danger. He became complacent. The nightmares caught up.

Nicole couldn't handle him like that. He disturbed her with the things he couldn't say. He was stupid really for thinking he could just be normal after everything. Now he's literally in a nightmare. He even has his very own monster to haunt and scare him, to force him to face everything that happened in high school.

When he really thinks hard about it, not all – but a lot of his early trauma had been caused by Billy in some way or another.

It's why he and Max had bonded so well, he guesses.

She started telling Steve about the Billy no one but her could see. How she wishes she could live that part of her life again so she could have helped him – understood him better. Steve had slowly begun to think the same way.

It was all too late by then, of course. They could only pretend – make wishful and sugar coated thoughts about how it could have been if they had only been Billy's friend.

As if he'd have ever let them.

Now Steve has a chance to put it all into action. And isn't that the kicker? He can't _not_ do it. He can't just be all talk. He's never been that guy. He can't do that to Max.

Steve isn't too big on introspection. He doesn't like the self realization because it's never what he wants it to be in the end. It never actually helps. But he knows that whatever this is that he has going on, it's because he's the special brand of fucked up that no amount of therapy is going to fix.

The fear, the deep seeded regret and knowledge that he is never going to have a normal life – that the very idea of normalcy drives him crazy. It's all connected.

Steve throws off his sweaty clothes and slides under the scalding spray of water. He lets it cascade off the top of his head, loosening his muscles and making his skin redden.

In spite of all the fear and uncertainty he feels more alive than he has in years. He has purpose, he has drive beyond his next pay check.

There's the exhilaration of knowing he's still alive no matter what's been thrown at him past or present.

He's even secretly been looking forward to what chaos will be waiting for him tomorrow-

_Oh._

_Oh shit._

The thoughts connect as Steve begins to scrub off the sweat from his skin. He freezes, mid sud to scream through his teeth and lips in frustration.

He _likes the danger_. No, he _craves it_.

 _Billy is all kinds of danger._ Everything Steve has been afraid of for the last decade rolled into one neat package.

He craves Billy. How Billy makes him feel alive.

_So. SO fucked up._

“Fucking shit!” Steve growls and tugs his hair.

He can almost hear the echo of Robin calling him a dingus from the recesses of his mind.

Imaginary Robin is right.

He has no idea what he's going to do with _any_ of this information.

-

With the thoughts whirling around his head in a swirling, pestering swarm it's no surprise that Steve struggles to find sleep.

The music from the radio does little to soothe him, neither do the radio hosts antics or the never ending commercials.

He gives up, certain it's both too early and too late in the morning to sleep well. He rolls himself out of bed and heads out the door, stumbling through the dark of the hallway. It's quiet and cool, the Bert and Ernie patrol seems to have moved further down the hall for now, which is fine because Steve's pretty sure he's safe.

Really his only danger is if Billy gets loose again and that- well, if Billy is being sincere about acknowledging boundaries, would really not be so bad?

It's a strange thought.

But if he's lying...

Steve feels himself go red and hot all over.

He makes a beeline towards the bathroom, thinking seriously about a cold shower followed by a reality check.

The lights blind him when he stumbles through the door, feet hitting cold tile and the chemical smell of cleaning product invading his nose.

It's empty. Soft blue tiles and stall doors make the place seem like an indoor pool changing room. The urinals are on the far right, beside the showers – because who doesn't love the smell of stale piss while they wash?

He's finishing up relieving his bladder when he hears it. He pauses, mid shake, his head caned to the side and his brow furrowed.

It had sounded like whispering.

He casually tucks himself away and turns, eyeballing the rows of stall doors, all partially closed, bar one.

He stares at it for a moment. Feels himself huff in amusement rather than concern. A scientific rendezvous perhaps?

Schrodinger's glory hole?

He grins to himself and shakes his head. Starts to wash his hands when he hears it again. Only this time, it's-

“Steve!?” A hoarse whisper

He moves cautiously to the closed stall, pausing a foot in front of it.

“Who's there?”

“Steve!” The door swings open a few inches. Steve stands wide eyed in shock when a familiar curly mop of hair appears before him, peering out from behind the stall door.

“Henderson?”

“Steve!” Dustin hisses, his eyes bright with surprise and joy. He reaches out and grips Steve's arm and hauls him into the cramped shower stall. Steve is immediately gripped in a crushing hug and squished against the wall.

“How?” Steve hugs him back, bewildered.

“Well, Dingus, you left me a super weird message after a year of silence,” Robin, Steve realizes is squished into the far corner. “Then when I tried to call the station they said you didn't work there any more. No one has seen you in weeks!” She looks a mixture of pissed off and relieved, the fine creases around her eyes removing some of the tension from her stare.

Dustin pries himself back, grinning his widest grin. He's holding Steve's arms like he can't bring himself to let go. He's almost as tall as Steve, a fully grown adult with the personality of a puppy.

Steve really missed Henderson.

“We asked around the others, Jonathan said you'd been obsessed with the meat-works and then, you gave Robin that message on the phone.” He stares up at Steve with large eyes. “Did they open another gate? This place is giving me flashbacks.”

“That's- I haven't seen one.” Steve tries to keep his voice low despite the enormous relief of seeing his friends in person. “There's some weird shit going on here, though.”

“I can't believe you right now, Dingus. How did you get caught up in this again?” Robin hisses.

Steve carefully shifts around the confined space to get to her, hauling her into a tight hug. She returns it just as firmly, but then punches him on the shoulder hard enough to actually hurt.

“Ow.” Steve rubs his arm, and grimaces guiltily. “Look it's a really long story – I don't think here's the right time or place to get into it.” He keeps his voice low and urgent. “How did you even get in here?”

Robin and Dustin exchange glances. Which can't be good.

“Steve, I'm an engineering student, I can get into anywhere.” Dustin boasts like it explains anything. “Finding you was the hard part, we've been waiting in here for hours for you to take a leak.”

“Wait- really?”

“Just like old times,” Robin interrupts. “We don't really have the leisure of sitting down with a cup of tea to chat about it Dingus, so let's cut to it – what's the deal, why are you here?”

“Guys, look, this is a government facility, some shit went down when I was working at the police station and they brought me in.” Steve runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. “They pretty much shanghaied me. I'm on the payroll and everything.”

“What the hell, Steve!” Robin gapes at him.

“We could get you out, Jonathan and Nancy have contacts now!” Dustin squawks a bit in protest.

“ _I can't just leave_ , I'll be on every wanted poster in America.” Steve objects, pained. He wants nothing more than to get out of here.

Robin and Dustin exchange another look. It's kind of creepy how they seem to be communicating without words.

“How long for? They can't just keep you here.” Dustin's voice threatens to reach a higher octave than what would be considered stealthy.

“Until I finish the job.” Steve shrugs helplessly.

“What job?” His friends ask in unison.

And, like, _shit._ Because he's always been a terrible liar, and now he's gone and talked himself into a corner.

“Uh.” He begins lamely. “I'm working with Sam Owens, you know from- he was friends with Hopper? We're- There's this thing, and- _shit_. I can't tell you, okay? I signed- well they signed a contract.”

Robins eyebrows shoot up to her hair line.

“Oh shit, it _is_ about the upside-down, isn't it?”

Steve grimaces.

Dustin let's out a hysteric sounding wheeze like someone has knocked the wind out of him.

“Oh my god, Steve! We need to warn the others!”

“No, you can't!” Steve hisses, gripping Dustin's forearms urgently and shaking him. “I don't need you guys getting any more caught up in this shit than you are! I shouldn't have left you a trail, I'm so stupid!”

At the time it had _seemed_ like the smart thing to do. But now, it's all lining up in Steve's head. What damage this could do to his friends if they all knew. They'd all come poking around, they wouldn't be able to help themselves, they would feel like it was their duty. And Jane- C _hrist,_ Jane would get sucked in again, and then Max- and _oh god_. Steve's not ready for that at all.

“I just have to finish up and then I'll be out! I need you to be cool, okay? Forget I'm here, tell the others I'm like- I'm off finding myself or something!” He gesticulates frantically trying to get the point across.

“Steve,” Robin deadpans, reaching out to slow his arms and their pointed waving. “There's something super creepy going on down here, but I trust you, okay? We wont tell the others, yet. But you've got to keep us in the loop. If things start going south, we have a right to know.”

Dustin stares at Robin like she's grown an extra head. He opens his mouth to protest but gets an elbow in the ribs from her. His teeth click as he shuts his mouth hard, then grudgingly nods.

It's a little suspicious to Steve how easily she's giving into his pleading. He side eyes her, trying to find the hidden truth to her words.

“Besides, we got in once, we can get in again.” She adds, confirming to Steve that she's not going to let any of this go so easily.

“Okay yes! Sure, you have a right to know if the upside-down becomes a problem again. And I will totally let you know if that's the case!” Steve says quickly, trying to placate them both. He leaves out that he's not allowed near a phone, or outside, because that's not going to help _him._ He has to convince them that it's fine to leave him here. That everything is A-Okay.

Robin squints at him in silence for a few seconds like she's reading Steve like an open book; it's making Steve shift uncomfortably.

Dustin looks from Robin to Steve with an expression that says he has his own reservations about the whole scenario.

“So, are we cool?” Steve's overly conscious of where they are, and how very easy it would be to get caught.

His friends exchange those secret glances again before they both offer their nods of ascent.

“Great, thanks.” Steve lets out a breath of relief and allows himself a smile. He tugs them both into another awkward hug, full of limbs and squeezes them both tightly. “It's really good to see you both, I'm almost not sorry you came all the way here and broke into a secret government facility for me.”

“Aw, Dingus.” Robin grins and speaks muffled into his chest where he's crushed her. “Even if you have terrible, god-awful taste in women, you know I've got your back.”

“Yeah, Steve, always.” Dustin affirms, slightly less smothered.

Steve has the painful urge to sit in the shower stall with them and just talk and joke with them for hours like they did when they were stupid kids. Unfortunately it's juts not how Steve's world works any more. They wont get out of anything lightly, they're adults now, the world is a lot less forgiving.

Watching them both climb into the janitors closet and through some kind of maintenance tunnel is one of the more heart-wrenching moments of Steve's life. But he knows they can't help him. It's clear to him now that he has to find a way out on his own to keep them all safe. And he will. He's the teenager with the nail bat, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve manages a scant few hours rest that night. He doesn't dream of Billy, for once. He dreams instead, of an endless space of darkness, and where the ground is a pitch black liquid under his feet.

The only light seems to be coming from himself, like his skin is radiating it.

Steve's standing alone in his worn out night-shirt and the pajama pants he went to sleep in – unsure what direction to go, or if to go at all. There's nothing to walk towards, no matter what way he turns, it's all just the endless darkness.

“Hello?” His voice echo's faintly around him and he's greeted with silence.

He feels mild alarm; while his situation is unclear at the moment, it's not yet concerning enough to cause him panic. So after a few moments of silence he cautiously walks _somewhere_. His feet making wet sounds against the liquid as it splashes and ripples under his heels.

The expanse seems to go on forever. Every so often Steve thinks he sees something in the darkness – a shape or a whirl of smoke, but every time, as he walks towards it, there is nothing.

“Hello?” He tries again, maybe with a twinge of worry creeping into his voice.

“Steve.” A soft voice whispers right at his ear. He spins around to see who it is- only to jerk awake to the sound of his radio alarm.

He sits upright in bed as his alarm plays staring at nothing, trying to chase the coat tails of the dream, trying to remember what had happened. It's a struggle, his mind keeps slipping away to other thoughts against his will. In the end he sighs and gets up.

He's groggy and exhausted mentally and physically – by the time breakfast rolls around, the dream is forgotten in favor of shoveling cereal and coffee into his mouth.

He has a dull headache forming behind his eyes and the urge to just crawl back into bed and stay there. As pleasant as that sounds, _(and it really does sound so, so good)_ he has work to do and a fresh determination to get it done.

When he arrives at the lab, Owens gives him a strange look. Like he's a little concerned for Steve's appearance or mental health.

“Ready for that chat, Steve-o?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure.” Steve grimaces because he'd almost blissfully forgotten how he'd left Owens yesterday.

He sits with Owens in the observation room, watching Billy finish his morning work-out. It's hard to ignore the way Billy's muscles flex and twist, harder still to focus on Owens words. He's in a daze, not thinking too clearly. He doesn't even realize he's staring at Billy until Owens places a too familiar hand on his shoulder and shakes him a little, feigning a friendly greeting.

Steve reluctantly pulls his eyes away from Billy.

“You seem to be getting pretty comfortable with Billy,” Owens states, his gaze flicking between Steve and the workout in the other room. “That's not a bad thing! In fact I encourage it.” Owens' eyes are warm but cautious.

Steve clenches his jaw. “But?”

“But.” Owens nods, “I'm going to caution you against getting too attached. This is a temporary arrangement, as you know, and emotional attachment can get messy.”

“He's already emotionally attached to me. That's why I'm here, remember?.” Steve glares, gesturing at himself to make his point.

“I'm not talking about him, Steve. I mean you.” Owens sighs slightly and rubs a hand over his brow. “Billy can't leave his life here, you can see that right? He's too dangerous, there would be no where for him out there. Here, he has a purpose.”

Steve swallows thickly, because it's like Owens knows Steve has a way out if he chooses to use it. Like he knows Steve would be lying if he said hadn't thought about it – taking Billy with him.

_And what?_

He stands very still, staring at Billy through the glass. He's trying not to let his expression show too much, even while having a painful realization. He doesn't think he can leave Billy behind, but he has no idea how Billy would live outside the lab.

Owens is right, Billy wouldn't be able to go anywhere looking like he does, he wouldn't have anything resembling a normal life. But, trapped in here as a science experiment just seems so wrong.

Steve grits his teeth instead of answering. The stubborn part of his brain tells him he'd find a way to give Billy a life. He forces a grim smile and a nod for Owens, but he's already reconsidering his options. He's had so many whiplash thoughts he's struggling to make his mind up about anything.

Owens claps him on the back and begins setting up his tape, leaving Steve to head towards the security doors.

His meeting with Billy that morning both clarifies and ruins Steve's rational.

Owens has held of giving Billy food all morning. Something Steve finds out the moment he sits down on his side of their little table in Billy's room once more.

Billy is agitated, shifting and bouncing his knees impatiently. For once, Steve notes, his hands are cuffed in front of him on a longer chain, and Bert and Ernie stand closer to Steve, weapons at the ready. Steve has the creeping feeling of dread build up in his chest, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.

Billy's stomach growls loudly and he turns to stare pointedly at Owens, ignoring Steve's quiet greeting.

The mic clicks on.

“Alright Billy, remember what we talked about.” Owens says.

Billy's lips twist into a sneer, but he nods, still bouncing his knees with impatience.

Steve frowns, confused, then the door slides open and two more guards come in, carrying the gutted and skinned carcass of a large animal between them. Steve watches with wide eyes as they approach under the watchful gaze of the other two guards and heft it onto the table, making it shake under the weight. They then back out of the room hurriedly, leaving the thankfully bloodless meat behind.

Billy stares at the meat with wide hungry eyes, but he makes no immediate move. Instead He looks at Steve, then his face contorts in an odd way, like he's angry, or concerned. Steve doesn't know how to react or what to say, so he just waits, a questioning frown on his brow. Billy spares a final glance towards Owens before he mutters under his breath, so only Steve can hear him.

“Fucking asshole.”

And then Steve is watching horrified as the lines on Billy's face contort and shift. Steve finally gets his answer as to what is with the strange ridges on Billy's face. His cheeks open up like two petals filled with teeth. His lower jaw drops, giving Steve a view of the inside of Billy's toothy maw. Steve is having all kinds of feelings about this exact moment. So many he doesn't know where to start. He's just staring with wide eyes and a slack jaw, frozen in place.

Billy uses his chained hands to heft the corpse easily upwards, and closes his mouth parts around the shoulder of the carcass. His teeth rip into the flesh, pulling and tugging at sinew and scraping against bone. He eats like Steve isn't there, pale and stunned into silence.

Steve wants to gag. He wants to scream and run away, but he's frozen to his seat unable to look away. It's horribly fascinating in a strange way – despite the fact that his heart is pounding in his chest and his instincts are screaming at him to flee.

Steve swallows thickly, certain his shock is plain to see, but Billy just ignores him in favor of his breakfast. He eats like he's starved; the meat quickly and efficiently being torn away like it's nothing at all, like it's perfectly normal to eat that amount with a mouth like a demodog.

It _finally_ makes sense to Steve as to why they are under the meat works.

Steve manages to get himself under control, forcefully slowing his breathing down to deep even inhales and slow deliberate exhales. He's not scared, per say, he's more-, he doesn't even know. Stunned? Horrified?

Owens is forcing him to acknowledge that Billy doesn't belong outside, and it's _a-fucking- lot_. When Steve manages to tare his eyes away from the scene before him to look at Owens, Owens is looking right back at him, a serious and grim look on his face, as if to say 'see?'

Billy barely seems to realize Steve's there, he's so engrossed in his meal. Steve takes the opportunity to leave before he has finished. He gets himself up on shaky legs and demands an exit from Bert and Ernie before Billy's even half way done.

He walks straight past Owens on the other side of the security doors and bee-lines to the bathrooms. He doesn't throw up like he feels he should. Instead he stares at the sink hole, hands clasped white-knuckled on the porcelain of the closest basin.

Soon, he knows the reason he isn't retching is because it's not disgust he's feeling, or fear. It's closer to despair.

He feels it on behalf of Billy and what has happened to him, what it means for his future and his past. It's a deep seated ache in his chest, something that threatens to choke him with it's intensity. Then the anger bubbles up behind it. He's soon shaking with rage, his teeth aching from the clench of his jaw. Tears form in his eyes as he struggles to keep himself from lashing out, from screaming or tearing at the mirror at the pale and wretched face he sees there reflected back at him.

The urge goes as quickly as it comes, and he's left feeling weakened and shaky, resting his head against the mirror, eyes shut.

A grim smile forms across his face.

Despite Owens attempts, Steve does feel something for Billy.

He feels it deep down in his core, kin to his own despair and pain.

He feels empathy.

He feels determination.

-

Despite Steve's tiredness, sleep is hard to come by, and fitful when he does. He can't stop thinking about Billy.

Flashes of the memory of Billy's jaw opening up makes his mouth dry, and a shiver roll down his spine. He whines a little and rolls over, pressing his hips into the mattress, too tired to question why or worry about what it says about his mental state.

He's built a nice friction, moaning voice muffled in his pillow, leaving a wet patch of saliva against the linen. He's fixating on the memory of Billy's body weight against him, it makes him ache with want, it makes him shiver and press his hips down harder to the mattress. His breath is labored and he's more than a little flushed when he's rudely jolted out of his haze of pleasure by the sound of shouts and running feet echo down the hall past his room.

Steve gets out of bed- well really he falls out in his scramble to get upright – ending up on his side on the floor, legs stuck in the sheets and an embarrassing tent in his pajama pants.

Soon after the blare of an alarm rings out monotonously through the facility.

Steve's first thought is that Billy has finally escaped. It's a real boner killer, like jumping into an ice cold shower. He's up and rushing to his door with little regard to his own safety. When he sticks his head out all he can see is the backs of a pair of Bert and Ernie's running down the hall towards the toilets.

Steve feels his stomach drop out of his ass.

_Dustin and Robin!_

He's running down the hallway after the guard before his mind even catches up with his limbs. He skids around the corner and slams bodily into a wall, but forces himself off it with both hands and a slight stumble until he's in eye sight of the bathrooms.

The guards there are all armed and ready – four holding position at the door, ready to charge in, guns blazing. Inside the toilets there's the sound of struggle and a shriek like that of a wild rabbit being caught that Steve immediately attributes to Dustin.

His heart is in his throat, and he tries to rush in but the guard at the door catch him solidly around the knees and take him to the hard stone floor.

Steve's winded gasping for breath when the guard inside the toilets bring out a small form of flailing limbs and bright red hair.

“Max?!” Steve gasps, string up at her in awe and panic.

“Steve!?” She calls out, spotting him on the floor, her eyes wide. She struggles harder, only to be jerked bodily away and down the hall.

Behind her another guard pulls out the familiar mop of curly hair and shrieking tones of Dustin. He's got a solid, stocky build which is giving the guard a hard time, all that contained nerd strength bursting forth. But Dustin goes still and pail very suddenly when he sees Steve on the floor, a guard practically sitting on his back now.

“I told her not to, Steve!” Dustin yells as he's hauled bodily by two Bert's.

Steve watches as they drag his friends away. He struggles hard, jerks his head forward sharply – slamming his forehead into the Ernie's jaw. Ernie's head jolts back with the impact and he snarls, releasing some of the grip he has on Steve's arms out of shock, blood squirting from his now split lip.

It hurts like a mother fucker but Steve ignores the pain. He twists – manages to free one of his wrists fast enough to slam his fist into the guards face, bloodying his nose to match his lip.

It's a small victory. A moment later two more guards pile on top of Steve and wrangle his limbs into a hold. Steve groans in pain and protest as his arms are bent behind his back and pinned in place with what sounds and feels like a zip tie.

They haul him upright, a man on each side. The Ernie he busted up is swearing and wiping the blood from his face, he glares at Steve as they drag him away. Steve grins wide and wild back. In the end, it seems Steve needn't have bothered struggling, because they are following after the others as soon as they have him moving.

Steve's forehead throbs with what he knows is going to be an egg sized bruise soon.

It's still worth it.


	12. Chapter 12

“You can't just keep them here!” Steve yells at Owens.

They are standing in front of a section of lab that Steve is pretty sure is the same place he woke up in when he first arrived. It looks ominously like a medical center, but with, like, gurneys and straps, and Steve imagines anyone in here as a patient has never just volunteered.

Steve and Owens are in the hallway looking through a window into the room. Dustin and Max are both miserably handcuffed to a gurney each, hissing their anger at each other for getting them into this mess.

Steve is very self consciously aware that he's still in his pajamas.

“It's not up to me Steve-o.” Owens says patiently. “We have to wait for clearance from the top. I just work here, same as you. They're lucky they didn't see anything, because that might mean they just get kicked out with a slap on the wrist.” He pauses, looking at Steve thoughtfully. “How did they find you, Steve?”

Steve feels the blood rush from his face.

“I don't- look, they probably followed my research on this place, okay? They're like, wicked smart.”

Owens stares at him a moment longer, examining Steve's face in a way that makes Steve very uncomfortable.

“You remind me of Hopper, sometimes.” Owens says, stunning Steve into silence. Then he takes a breath and continues talking like he hadn't just hit pause on Steve's brain.

“From memory they were pretty tenacious as children, to the point they destroyed a lot of hidden operations and years of research. Not unfairly, mind you, there was a lot of unethical practice back then; but let's hope no one else remembers that – it might make them a lot less forgiving.”

Steve feels his heart rate pick up in fear. This is all his fault. His kids are in so much trouble because of him.

“Let me talk to them, please!” Steve pleads with Owens, trying and failing to ignore the Bert and Ernie's tense forms behind him, how their hands are rested on their guns and not their tasers. “I can find out if they know anything, make sure they don't tell anyone else.”

Owens folds his arms and stares at Max and Dustin through the glass. He seems to mull it over slowly, weighing up his options.

“Alright, Steve, make it quick, and remember if you say anything you might just be damming them.”

Steve pales again but nods stiffly. The guards move at a nod for Owens and open the door, to let Steve through. They follow him into the room and stand post just inside.

“Steve!” Max cries, voice filled with relief.

“Hey, Max. Long time no see.”

“I tried to stop her, Steve, I really did.” Dustin whines, tugging at his bonds. “She twisted my arm until I spilled, I'm sorry! I'm not good with violence!”

“Shut up!” Max grits her teeth at Dustin.

“Hey, guys, it's okay.” Steve interrupts before they can argue. “Owens thinks they might let you go.”

“Really?” Dustin perks up almost immediately.

Max just scowls.

“Why are you here, Steve, what's going on?” Her eyes are all indignation and fire, like back when they were fighting monsters in the old days.

“I really can't go into that, Max, but look, I'm fine, okay? I'm working with Owens.” Steve tries to make his voice sound light and carefree, like it's all no big deal.

“See!?” Dustin squawks at Max.

Her eyes widen a fraction, then narrow.

“Bullshit. There's something fucky going on down here.”

Steve is trying to project his thoughts into her head, but it appears to not be working.

“It's- like, I can't tell you, but you don't have to worry about anything.” Lies. All lies. Steve feels them taint his tongue.

He approaches slowly, looking back once or twice at the guards. When they don't stop him he gives the kids a tight hug each.

“Hey, I know it's scary, and I really appreciate you looking out for me, but everything's okay, really.”

Max wont stop scowling.

“Bullshit, Steve.” She hisses.

Steve widens his eyes at her, really trying to push the message through to her to drop it.

“I know they're up to something.”

“Max, come on, chill out will you?” Steve almost begs her. “Owens is just keeping an eye on things, making sure there are no more break ins, you know?”

“See, Max?” Dustin glares at her, “Steve's fine.”

Max ignores him, instead she stares hard into Steve's face, and he really can't look away because it would be like turning his back to a tiger.

“Fine.” She spits out. But Steve can tell by the look in her eyes that none of this is over.

“Good,” Stave backs up and nods. “I've gotta talk with Owens, but I will see you again soon, okay? We'll get you back home.”

He spares them both a fond but stern look as he backs out of the room.

Owens raises his eyebrows at Steve, but his lips are quirked into a fond smile.

“Must be nice, having people who care so much about you, Steve.”

Steve just grunts, feeling like his brain's being dragged over sandpaper.

“How long until we can let them go?”

Owens glances at his wrist watch and then back into the medical room.

“Should be soon. I'll order us some coffee and we can wait the call together.”

It takes Steve a few moments to reluctantly nod.

Steve is so tired and can barely bring himself to ask Owens anything, Owens doesn't look much better. He's staring thoughtfully past Steve. When he talks it's calm and collected.

“Hopper once made me realize how important it is to have people care about you. He was a good man. A bit rough around the edges, but at heart - a good man.” He pauses and smiles at Steve. It's a little sad, Steve realizes, Owens eyes are filled with some internal conflict. “It may have been a decade since he died, but I never forgot what he taught me.”

Steve stares at him with a frown of confusion.

A lab tech brings them Styrofoam cups filled with scalding black coffee. A quiet forms in the room as the tech leaves, neither Owens or Steve make an effort to talk, they sip their drinks in silence.

Steve is distracted, watching his kids sulk in the other room, and so he nearly spills the coffee all over himself when a Bert comes running up, to speak to Owens.

Owens nods to Steve and follows the Bert down the hallway to get his instructions. They disappear around the corner, leaving Steve with the remaining guard, watching over Dustin and Max like they're in a play pen and he is the watchful parent, and not a couple of twenty something adults in serious fucking trouble.

He's mostly finished his coffee when Owens returns. He looks haggard like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He's affected a light jog, in a hurry to return. Steve watches Owens' myriad of facial expressions as he approaches, and feels a pit form in his stomach.

“Steve...” Owens says when he finally gets close enough.

But he never gets to finish his sentence. Steve finds himself falling against the wall and into Owens. They crash with a solid thud and a wheeze of breath.

The whole complex shakes violently beneath their feet.

“What the fuck?” Steve carefully pulls himself up only to stumble again as another heavy shake rocks the hall, the lights above them flicker violently.

Then that horrible alarm starts to blare throughout the complex.

The two guards exchange a glance, gathering themselves from the jolt. Their walkies crackle to life and a voice says a jumbled mixture of words Steve can't quite catch. The two guards spare no backwards glance as they sprint off down the hallway, guns raised.

Steve and Owens stand in silence, ears straining to listen over the sound of the alarm. Steve's having a hard time not imagining demodogs running through the hallways towards them with hungry open mouths. His hands shake and he clenches his fists together to stop it. There's a cold sweat forming over his body the longer they stand waiting.

Soon the sounds of muffled gunfire and shouts echo down the hall. Steve's eyes widen and he looks first at Owens then at the door that holds Max and Dustin.

_Oh shit! Oh, Fucking hell!_ Steve's mind helpfully supplies, already pumping adrenaline through his system.

Owens looks just as stunned and doesn't hesitate to move when Steve hurriedly pulls him into the holding room.

“What's going on?!” Dustin's squeaks as they crowd into the small space, his voice has gone an octave higher then normal.

“I don't know.” Steve admits.

“At a guess,” Owens says, a little perturbed. “I would say it's the Russians.”

“What?!” All three of them shout in unison.

Steve feels dread crawling up his spine with spidery fingers.

“Why are the Russians here?” Max tugs frantically at her handcuff, making an awful metallic clanking sound.

“I knew it! This is about the gate!” Dustin crows.

“No, I'm happy to say it's not” Owens says solemnly. Yet another quake makes the lights flicker and the gurneys rattle. “At least not on our side.”

“What does that mean?” Dustin almost whimpers the question.

Instead of answering, Owens turns suddenly to Steve and fishes around in his pocket, producing a small silver key which he shoves into Steve's hand.

“Get them out of here.”

Steve stares at the key for a beat then he promptly rushes over to unlock the handcuffs. His limbs moving ahead with purpose while his mind plays catch up.

“What's going on?” Max asks, wide eyed.

The sound of gunfire and screams echoes down the hall, getting closer.

Owens just shakes his head and rushes to peer out the window, trying to see further down the hallway.

“Quickly, Steve.” He says firmly, over his shoulder. Dustin and Max gather themselves up, rubbing at their wrists, moving a little faster when Owens jerks the door open and waves them through hurriedly.

Steve's brain just turns on survival mode, he finds himself leading the way through the door. Dustin just about falls over himself rushing out with Max pushing behind him.

Owens points them down the opposite side of the complex away from the sounds of battle, tugging out his key card as they jog.

“Seriously, what's happening!” Max hisses through her teeth, trying to stop her voice from rising too high.

“They're after our research.” Owens replies steadily, avoiding eye contact as he swipes them through another door.

_Billy._ Steve's mind supplies. He stops dead in his tracks long enough for Dustin to crash into him.

“We can't just leave him here!” Steve whispers urgently, ignoring the pain of having Dustin's elbow in his spine.

“I have it covered. You need to get your friends out.” Owens murmurs, low as they round another corner. They nearly run into a pair of men dressed in dark uniforms, fully automatic rifles in hand. The soldiers are blessedly barging their way into an adjoining room, where the sounds of gunfire follow and cries of fear are muffled through the walls.

Owens holds them back against the wall until he can't see the soldiers, then hurries them across the hall quickly, heading towards the sleeping quarters. Steve's heart pounds as they step cautiously over the corpse of a Bert and Ernie, slumped against a bloodied wall.

Steve grimaces but crouches down and quickly picks up one of the corpses hand guns. He tosses the taser to Max, who catches it with a bewildered and pale expression.

The blood makes the floor a little slippery and Steve grimaces, wishing he'd at least had a chance to get dressed, or put shoes on before this night had decided to get so much worse.

Owens stops them just before the junction that leads towards the labs and the cafeteria. He turns to Dustin and Max - whispering urgently. 

“However you got in, you need to get out, _right now_. Don't get caught, they wont be taking prisoners this time.”

“Aren't you coming?” Dustin's eyebrows rise up to his hairline.

“Sam- I'm coming with you.” Steve interrupts, knowing exactly where Owens is heading.

“No, Steve-o. This is your only chance to get out of this without very serious consequences. I know you don't believe me, but everything I have done has been to keep you from disappearing. I owe that much to Hopper.”

“You'll get killed!” Steve hisses.

“Go, Steve! They wont make it without you.” He shoves Steve's arm towards the hallway.

Steve grimaces and looks from his to his kids, then nods, motioning the two to follow along behind him as he moves. He glances back to see Owens duck into another security door.

He'll get the kids out, then he'll go back for Owens and Billy. There's no way he's leaving without them.

Dustin and Max are mouse quiet for a change. They follow Steve's whispered instructions without question as he leads them through the halls, towards the cafe.

Max holds the taser in a white knuckled grip, mimicking Steve's double handed hold in his pistol.

The sound of heavy armored footsteps makes them all freeze against the wall. Half a dozen Bert and Ernie's come around the corner, weapons drawn. Steve holds his gun firmly, but carefully away from them, recognizing the lab guards. The leader halts, regarding Steve cautiously before nodding the guard to carry on down he hall.

“Lock yourselves in a room. Now.” The leader barks as he passes them.

Steve watches wide eyed as they head to the double doors of the cafeteria, weapons high as they burst through.

The sound of automatic fire gets Steve moving no problem.

His heart must reach its maximum capacity for bullshit, because the moment they round the corner into the next hall and the dorms, all Steve feels is absolute calm.

“Oh, shit!” Dustin wails.

There are bodies everywhere, lab techs and guards strewn across the floor. The dorm room doors are busted open and the interiors splattered with blood and bullet holes.

Steve's breath catches in his throat as a pair of unfamiliar uniformed soldiers step out from one of the rooms. He sees it all happen in slow motion, the few seconds it takes the soldiers to realize they aren't alone, to raise their rifles. Steve doesn't even notice he's fired the pistol until the bodies hit the floor.

“Shit!” Dustin squeaks.

Steve stares wide eyed, frozen in place. The eyes of the soldiers stare up at him blankly in return. He can hear voices raised in alarm behind them somewhere, but it doesn't really connect in Steve's mind.

It's Max who drags him passed the corpses, her insistent shoving forces his legs to remember how to move. The sound of the gunshots ringing in his ears still, Steve barely registers her screaming at them to run.

His arm is nearly jerked out of his socket at the force of her pull.

She drags them around another corner and towards the communal toilets. Bowling straight through the door like a bat escaping hell.

Dustin his hauling ass, panicked sounding _oh, shit's_ escaping his mouth at every turn.

The next thing Steve registers is being forced through the maintenance tunnels, and into the boiler room. His lean body finally a boon as he squeezes through the tight space.

It all becomes a blur, his body moving on auto pilot as Max and Dustin push and shove him throughout the ordeal.

He blinks again and he's being shoved into a cramped service elevator. Dustin standing on his toes as he slams his fist into the control panel.

“Why aren't we moving?” Max growls at Dustin, gripping her taser protectively.

“Fucking-shit-balls!” Dustin's hisses and rips the panel cover off. “The alarm system has shut the elevator down.”

He begins pulling at wires, shaky hands sorting through the mess of the elevators electrics.

“Well, fix it then, genius!” Max grits out.

“Shut up, I'm _trying_!”

There's a few tense minutes with nothing but Dustin's swearing until the elevator hums to life. There's a collective sigh of relief from all of them as it jolts, beginning to move them upward, leaving Steve's stomach somewhere far below.

The cables pulling them up the shaft creak ominously and another full building shake makes it groan at the strain. If Steve's mind and heart weren't in a state of total focus he might be wetting his pants right now.

When they finally come to the stop, the doors open to a scene right out of a Stephen King novel. They're in the meat works, surrounded by bloodied hooks and carcasses. Conveyor belts of horror, and the smell of blood and flesh.

There are soldiers in the slaughter room, they all turn with a cry of surprise as the elevator doors expose Steve and his kids.

Max shoves them hard out of the elevator towards a wall of dripping cow carcasses. Practically dragging them all behind a steel work bench.

There's a bark of command, and from Steve's untrained ear but horrible trauma, it sounds a lot like Russian. Heavy booted feet rush through the slaughter hall followed by the sound of guns cocking.

Dustin is holding Steve's arm so hard he can feel the ache in his bones.

More foreign voices bark commands and Steve grips his pistol tighter. He knows there's no way they get out of this intact, the best he can hope for is taking the fire so the kids can escape.

“When I say, I want you two to run as fast as you can towards the far wall, okay?”

Dustin and Max both stare at him as if he's insane.

“What?! That's crazy.” Max hisses.

“I'm going to draw them away.” Steve hisses back, tensing his thighs to keep the blood flow going.

“That will never work!” Dustin chimes in, holding Steve's arm tighter still. “No way!”

“We don't have a lot of choice!” Steve growls, shaking his arm free. “Just do it, okay?”

Dustin stares at him intensely.

“If you die, I die. Remember?”

And what the fuck is Steve meant to say to that? He feels his breath catch in his throat.

“No ones going to die!” Max interjects. “Listen!”

The elevator makes an alarming sound of stressed metal and wire. It jolts and bangs against the shaft.

The soldiers all turn their weapons towards it in alarm.

The metal shrieks again, then contorts violently as it's pulled by some force, downwards. It happens so fast Steve's having trouble believing it's happened. But a moment later the whole elevator falls away with the sound of snapping cable.

Then there's silence.

Steve watches the gaping dark of the elevator space with a horrid fascination. There's a blue of violent movement, a streak of white and a shout of surprise as something bursts forth from the dark and barrels into the nearest soldier, downing him and leaving him a pile of blood and limp muscle.

Then all hell breaks loose.

The soldiers begin firing and screaming as the blur decimates them one after the other.

It's Billy. It has to be.

Steve is in awe. He doesn't know how long he's standing there with his mouth open in shock before Max is again forcing him to move.

They run to the sound of agonized and terrified screams, the sound of bullets hitting metal and stone. They run to the sound of tearing flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was necessarily hard to write - but I got it done! *Confetti*  
> I hope there's not too much cheese in there for you all! The lack of Billy will also be remedied next chapter, wink wink.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated when you're all asleep, like Santa leaving gifts under the tree on Christmas eve.  
> I hope you've all been good!
> 
> This is officially the longest fic I've ever written. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself when it's done, that nagging sense that I should be writing every week will have to find something else to latch onto.

“Whatthefuckwasthat!?” Dustin is almost screaming as he runs. His eyes are wide with fright and he is stumbling along after Steve and Max, breath laden with exertion. They shove through the double doors of the slaughter room and out into the dim light of morning.

The meat works is surrounded by trucks, screaming scientists lucky enough to have made it out, and soldiers firing at guards.

It's utter chaos.

Steve can't even take a moment to appreciate that this is his first time outside in weeks. Max doesn't let up her pace. Her unshakable resolve to get them to safety is likely the only thing keeping them alive. She's gripping Steve's arm so tight he can feel it bruising, but there's no time to worry about pain right now.

A white truck skids to a stop to their left, spraying gravel and dirt up. It's just far enough away that they might not have been seen yet, but it'll be a sure thing if they stick around.

A group of soldiers leap from the back of the truck, armed to the teeth, and charge towards the slaughter room, just as Max drags Dustin and Steve along behind one of the meat-work vans to the right. It's a little on fire and smoking, but that's the least of their worries.

The soldiers signal each other and bark foreign commands, before one of them kicks the doors open and they all file in, ready to shoot. The sounds that follow make Steve's blood run cold. His imagination running wild with images of blood and teeth and bone. He can't stop picturing the way Billy's mouth just opens to show off those teeth, and then he wonders if human meat tastes any different to those carcasses they had been feeding Billy.

Max wont let them stop. She's barking orders and them into a hard sprint as they clear the last remaining cover they have before the gates. But Steve can't stop himself from turning constantly back to watch the double doors that hide the massacre beyond.

He promised he'd go back for Billy. He will, he just has to make sure his kids get out first.

The soldiers firing outside the building start yelling frantically to each other, Steve can see a few of them running for cover, but he has to turn back to face forward as he stumbles over the uneven grass. The gunfire ceases for a brief moment behind them, only to start up again in frantic bursts.

Steve's waiting to feel the sting of a bullet, or the scream of pain form Max or Dustin. Instead he hears a ripping wet and gurgling sound and the unmistakable thud of something heavy being thrown into metal.

Steve's hyper focused on every sound over his thundering heart and feet. He chances a look back towards the building just in time to see the body of a soldier slam so hard into the side of a van the entire metal shell concaves under the force.

He thinks he catches a glimpse of Billy, then. It's a blur of movement darting between vehicles, running low, almost on all fours.

Steve doesn't realize he's stopped until Max is screaming something at him urgently. When he stares at her blankly she grips his hair and forcefully shoves his head down to crawl under the chain link fence that marks the edge of the meat-works property.

“Is that a demogorgon! _?_ ” Dustin asks shrilly while he's shoving Steve's arse through the fencing with both hands.

Steve doesn't have an answer for him.

Max leads them towards the woods, refusing to let them slow down, even when they are under tree cover.

“Don't fucking stop moving!” She growls, taking hold of Steve's arm once more and forcing him along. “The cars up ahead, we're nearly there!”

Which means they made it, Steve saw them out safe. _He can go back for Billy_.

His thought process falters when the sound of something exploding behind them belts into his ear drums. The shock wave hits a moment later, and the ground rocks under their feet.

They're all jolted to the ground hard and Steve feels the air punch out of his lungs, winding him.

It takes a few moments to re-orient himself, to force himself to breathe inwards while his lungs are still trying to force air out. With a heavy gasp inward he forces himself up on his hands an knees, trying not to vomit.

His brain really struggles to piece it all together. He takes his time standing, wobbling as he goes but he's back on his feet – ignoring the ache in his ribs. Max and Dustin are in similar states, looking dazed and confused. Steve takes a few staggering steps towards the facility, squinting through the shallow tree line.

His ears are ringing from the blast, and his brain is struggling to register basic things, but when he sees smoke and debris back at the facility it all comes into sharp focus. He feels his chest squeeze around his heart painfully as a thought hits him.

_Billy._

He takes a few more unsteady steps forward, feeling the panic rise in his chest.

_Billy can't be dead... not after all this, not again!_

He begins to move back towards the facility, starting a jog and picking up speed.

He hears his name.

“Steve!” Max yells, a few seconds later and she and throws herself at him, tackling him around the middle from behind. Steve is forced to stumble under her weight, letting out a surprised groan as his spine jolts on impact. Max wastes no time trying to wrestle him backwards, digging her sneaker heels into the dirt. A moment later Dustin's solid form is shoulder barging into his stomach, forcing him further backwards. It catches Steve right in the gut and he lets out a grunt as the air leaves his lungs for the second time in a matter of moments – cutting off his words of protest and reasoning.

“What are you doing! Are you crazy!?” Dustin gasps out, trying to chase his own breath.

“I have to go back!” Steve wheezes, managing a choked and garbled mouthful of words.

“No way!” Dustin squawks indignantly, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Steve struggles again to regain his breath and wriggle his limbs free. But the moment he tries, together, Dustin and Max wrangle him a little further into the woods.

“Steve we have to go! Right now!” Max is growling into his ear, she's trying to get him in a headlock but she's just a little too short to wrap her arm around his shoulders effectively.

“Let go, Max!” Steve struggles to free his arms from her surprisingly strong grip.

“Fuck, you Steve! We risked our lives to get you out!”

“I was fine!”

“There were Russians, and something exploded! Are you _trying_ to die?!”

“I'm serious Maxine! Let go!”

“Oh my god, you're an idiot! Robin's going to kick your arse!”

“Guys! Shut up!” Dustin roars suddenly, his body going dead still against Steve's. “Listen!”

They both obediently pause, ears straining.

There's a distant wail of sirens approaching from the city, but the immediate sounds of gunfire has stopped. The woods around them seem to have fallen under an eerie silence.

They exchange glances, then Dustin slowly releases his grasp around Steve's mid section. Max doesn't seem to be so willing to give up her hold but she doesn't try to force Steve to move either.

A branch snaps and Dustin turns towards it, mouth agape in surprise. He squints a little through the trees and murky overcast light of the morning. A moment later and Dustin raises a hand to them to signal them to keep quiet. They all hold perfectly still, waiting.

Max swallows thickly and slowly releases Steve. The pair of them straighten up slowly as if moving too fast will break the spell of silence around them and give them away.

Dustin takes a slow step to the right and cranes his neck to see through the trees. He pauses, squinting, then all of a sudden he's spinning around to face them with wide terrified eyes.

“Run!” He shrieks and lurches forward, shoving into them both in his frantic need to get them moving.

Max and Steve both have a brief second of surprise before their legs start to move. Dustin leads the way through the trees like an inelegant deer in full charge, barrelling over the undergrowth. Steve and Max aren't far behind. They're racing towards the road which has just become visible through the trees. Max yells out something about a car, and Dustin makes some kind of agreeing yelp as a branch scrapes against the side of his face. Steve gets the same treatment a moment later, but the branch is bigger and he's pretty sure it has just given him a black eye, but he has no time to stop to check.

Whatever is chasing them is not falling behind. The crash and snap of branches is enough to spur Steve on without looking back. His feet are cut to shreds but he ignores them, ignores the stabbing of tiny rocks and branches as they break his skin.

His heart is beating a wild staccato as he runs, a familiar heavy and warm sensation rushing through him like liquid excitement. He's waiting for the sound of gun shots, waiting for angry Russian voices to start calling out, a horrible blast from the past, but it never comes. Instead all he hears is a steady breaking of tree limbs as something large barrels through them.

Steve shouldn't find this exciting, he should be terrified. But there's a singing of blood in his veins that spurs him on faster, prey instincts kicking in. He's the fastest of them, with his long legs and constant treadmill usage, so he sees the Camaro first. It's off the road a bit, in a little clearing, haphazardly covered in a few branches for camouflage.

Max is yelling something about the key and he has to strain to hear over his gasping breaths and pounding heart, but he finds it just under the front tire as she catches up.

They pile into the car with little regard for each others very tender flesh. Max is at the wheel trying to fit the key into the ignition while Steve and Dustin are in a tangle of limbs in the front passenger seat. Dustin manages to weasel his way into the back screaming the whole way. He's kneeing and kicking Steve in the ribs in the process.

The engine roars to life as Max finally turns the key and shoves the gear stick into reverse.

But then they aren't moving... or speeding into action like Steve's expecting. He shoves Dustin's foot out of his face and turns to yell at her to get them going but his voice dies in his throat.

She's staring straight ahead, pale and gaping. Her hands are clenched so tight around the wheel her knuckles are white.

Steve turns to the windshield and feels his hear skip a few beats.

_Billy._

He's standing directly in front of the car, staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost and he's not he one back from the dead.

His lab clothes are torn and bloody, his face is smeared with gore, but his blue eyes are bright and focused. His chest heaves softly, flexing the mass of muscle of his torso and arms.

“Steve?” Max's voice comes out confused, small, and vulnerable. It stabs Steve right through the heart.

It takes Steve a moment to find his voice before he slowly reaches over and rests his hand over hers on the wheel, gently squeezing.

“What the _Fuck!?_ ” Dustin hisses from the back as he finally clues in. “Is that _Billy_?!”

Max finally tears her gaze away from Billy to stare at Steve. Her eyes are wide and disbelieving.

“Max,” Steve finds his voice pained, catching in his throat. It's hard to swallow past the lump that's formed. “I-” He starts and stops, there's just no way to have this conversation that wont break her heart.

“Why- how is he- is that _blood?_ ” Dustin is wheezing, desperately trying to freak out and catch his breath.

Steve can't look anywhere else but Maxine. He has no idea how to even begin explaining.

She seems to see it in his eyes, her shock turns to a frown. She looks back at Billy, takes in a sharp and shuddering breath before she's moving. She pulls away from Steve's hand and jerks the Camaro door open, launching herself out of the car before Steve can even say a word of warning. Steve manages to get his limbs to obey him as he stumbles out of his own door, following her in haste.

He has a moment of utter panic that Billy is going to tear her into pieces, but then a little whisper of a memory comes to him. Billy had once said in a very 'round about way, that he wanted Max safe, away from the prying eyes and ears of the facility. That has to mean something, right?

Steve holds his breath, ready to jump in at any moment to save her. He watches as she runs the few steps forward, hesitating only for a moment before she throws herself at Billy, wrapping her arms around his middle like he's a life preserver.

Billy barely stumbles but he stares down at her like she's bowled him over – his eyes wide, limbs rigid with shock or uncertainty.

When Max's small form starts shaking with sobs, Steve's there, cautiously placing a hand on her back. Billy looks at him, and for the first time since Steve has re-met him, he looks at a loss. Small even. _Human._

It's not until Dustin carefully comes up behind them that the spell of stillness breaks between them all.

“Steve, what's going on?” He stage whispers.

Steve wipes away tears and sweat from his face quickly on his forearm.

Max finally raises her head from where it's been crushed to Billy's collar. She stares up at Billy with red, puffy eyes and wet cheeks. It's only then that she seems to really notice the changes in Billy's appearance. Her face contorts in confusion, then shock as some kind of realization hits her. She pushes away from Billy with wide haunted looking eyes.

Billy just stares back at her, frozen in the moment.

“Hey, so.. this- there's a lot you guys need to know.” Steve intervenes, carefully raising his hands and resting them lightly on her shoulders, trying to ground her. “But I- maybe not here, okay?”

It takes a gentle but insistent shake to make her focus on Steve's voice, but when she does her eyes are laser focused. Max wipes her face on the bottom of her T-shirt, and gives Steve a short sharp nod. She spins herself away from Billy, as if staring at him for too long is going to break something in her, and Steve feels his guilt swell up like pit in his stomach.

“Get in.” She finally says, marching back to the Camaro without a backwards glance. Steve feels his heart ache for her all the more for her tough girl routine, watching her fling her walls up like she had when she was a kid, before Steve had managed to reach out to her.

“Okay,” is all Steve can say. He looks cautiously at Billy, then back towards the trees, making sure they aren't being watched or followed. “I guess you got your wish after all. I hope that promise not to kill me still stands.” Because, like, it's not as if he can make Billy go back now.

He feels an unnerving sort of calm wash over him, like this is all perfectly normal. Like, this is just another day. Steve finds he can't make himself hate the idea. It even seems reasonable that he should feel some comfort in this strangeness.

Billy narrows his eyes slightly, examining Steve like he's on the menu. There's a split second where Steve feels that familiar flight or fight sensation take hold in his gut, but then Billy nods wordlessly and moves past him to slide into the back seat of his old Camaro, leaving Steve with his pounding heart and confusing, sudden arousal.

Steve breathes through it, turning to follow Bill, and nearly running into Dustin.

Dustin's expression it comical, a mixture of terrified, fascinated, and gob-smacked.

“Get in the front, Henderson.” Steve says, calmly. He doesn't wait for a reply as he moves himself into the back seat beside Billy.

The moment they're all seated Steve has a sudden thought. A flash of guilt even.

“Owens?” Steve asks quietly, directing his voice to Billy. He's not really sure if he wants to know, but he feels he should ask.

Billy's response is nothing more than a frown. He otherwise keeps his eyes pinned on the rear-view mirror, watching the reflection of Maxine's face.

Steve has no idea how to take that.

The silence lasts until Max pulls the car out and onto the road.

“Talk.” Is all she says, her eyes return Billy's stare in the mirror.

Steve takes a deep breath, but to his surprise it's Billy who speaks first.

“You fixed it.” He says softly, slowly. His hands are grazing over the door of his beloved car.

“It's all I had left of you.” Max says, hard, but vulnerable. “Someone had to honor your memory.”

Billy's jaw tightens then relaxes slowly.

“I saw your body. You died.” She says then, her voice a small wounded thing.

Billy falls silent again, his clawed hands clenching and unclenching on the leather seats.

Steve can see him shake, as if the strain that memory brings him is testing his ability to stay composed. Steve feels his heart race, remembering all the times Billy tore up the lab over similar questions.

He can't say what possesses him to do it, but he reaches out and clasps the back of Billy's hand in his own. Billy tears his eyes away from the mirror to stare at Steve with such a raw intensity, Steve feels his pajama pants become a little _too tight_.

 _And oh god,_ he has no idea how to deal with any of this.

“Max, I need you to trust me, okay?” Steve keeps his voice steadier than he has felt in a very long time. “We will talk about this all when we get somewhere safe.”

There's a pause from the whole car. Max clearly wants to argue or yell or scream, but she just tightens her hands on the wheel and nods. A moment later her foot hits the gas so hard it must be on the floor.

“I don't want to die like this!” Dustin's hands shoot out. clutching the console for dear life, a high pitched broken whine escaping him as the Camaro picks up a dangerous amount of speed with no signs of slowing.

Steve grips Billy's hand tighter, suddenly feeling like he's swallowed his own tongue. The speed Max takes corners makes his stomach lurch.

He's about to tell her to slow down, but he catches the look on Billy's face and stalls.

Billy's eyes are wide and dangerous with joy. His mouth is open in a wild and wide smile, all his pointed teeth on display. He's laughing a deep howl of a thing like he used to on the basketball courts.

Steve's heart throbs. He can't look away.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to try make this the last chapter but it just didn't work out, so there's one more to come!
> 
> Sorry it's a lot of setting and dialogue! But Steve and billy will have their moment soon!

Steve's body hums with nervous energy. His hands are gripping the seat so tight his knuckles are aching, and his heels are dig into the floor trying desperately not to be flung around the small space.

He has to hang on tight because Max is driving with wild and reckless abandon. Her expression set in a mask of determination and fire – the kind of look she gets when she's entering one of her races. She's shooting glances at Billy in her rear-view mirror every time they're on a straight stretch of road. If she's shocked by the sight of his teeth she keeps it well hidden.

Dustin on the other hand, is openly staring – wide eyed and pale but for the moment mercifully silent.

Steve kicks the back of his seat a few times to get him to snap out of it or at the very least, blink.

Billy seems unphased. He's too busy enjoying the nostalgia of his Camaro. His eyes are closed in some private bliss at the thrum and vibration of the engine, his mouth is stretched in a permanent shark like grin.

So, Steve's a little too distracted by watching the silent visual war to realize where they are going – until the moment Max pulls over, with a little more skid than probably necessary. It's the scrap yard of Steve's very first nightmares about the demo-dogs, he feels that nervous energy spike a bit as he remembers the ancient feelings connected to the place.

Max tucks the Camaro as far as she can into the piles old metal without scratching the paint up, puts the gear into park and swings around in her seat to glare at them.

Billy still has his eyes shut, and Steve suspects it's to avoid looking at her rather than him enjoying the moment any more. Steve can't really blame him, he too would rather be anywhere else but under Max's stare. Then she turns it on Steve, and, yeah, he wishes he thought to have his eyes closed too.

“Jane told me you were a prisoner.” She accuses, “So I drove all the way here to help you out, only to have you try and tell me everything's just fine, and then all this shit happens with the Russians and it turns out my brother is _alive_. I'm about a _second_ away from losing my mind. So _talk.”_

So Steve talks... Minus a few details, like, he's pretty sure she doesn't need to know about Billy's penchant for cuddling in his sleep.

He feels like he talks until his he has no more voice left – and all the while Billy stays very, very quiet. His eyes are open a fraction to watch Steve through his stupidly long lashes, but that's as much input as he provides. _The fucker._

“So, yeah, um, they brought him back, but like, Owens said he wouldn't be alive if they hadn't made him part demo.”

Max's eyes are wide and her lips are pressed in a hard line, like she's holding in a scream.

Dustin's eyebrows are raised as highs as they will go.

“That's so freaking cool!” He says in absolute awe.

Max shoots Dustin a dirty look and he manages to school his features in a comically hasty fashion into something a little less amazed.

“I mean, like, messed up... but cool.” He amends.

Max lets out a shuddering breath, taking a moment to just absorb it all.

Her voice turns soft, timid even. So unlike her that Steve has to stop himself from reaching out to comfort her.

“Is it really you, Billy?” She near whispers.

“Yeah, shitbird. Mostly.” Billy finally speaks. He sounds exhausted, world weary.

“Mostly?” Dustin butts in, ruining the tender moment once more with an ill timed voice crack.

Billy's jaw works- shifting and clenching as he takes what must be a phenomenal effort to keep his cool. Steve's only half worried he's going to show of his new freaky monster jaw.

“Mostly.” Billy repeats. “As in, sometimes I can't control myself and I break things.”

“So, the same.” Max huffs, but there's just enough teasing in her tone to soften her worried expression. She turns about in her seat, shoving the door open with her sneaker, and climbs out.

“Robin should be picking up Jane and Mike from the airport about now. We said we'd all meet up here.”

“What?!” Steve starts, hurrying his long limbs out of the car to follow her. “Why is Jane here? I was trying to keep her out of all this shit.”

“Because we've all been worried sick about you?” Max rounds on him when he catches up to her, halting his quick strides towards a beat down VW bus. “She saw you with her powers and freaked out. No one knew what the fuck was going on, Steve! No one could get hold of you! When I told her I would check in she said she was coming too, and Mike wont leave her side, so he's here. Then we have Nancy, Jonathan, and Lucas with Will and Joyce, making sure he's not in any trouble on their end. So, _sorry,_ Steve but when they hear about this bullshit they're all going to rock on up, guns blazing. Congratulations, your shit storm just dragged us all back together.”

Steve has stopped mid stride in stunned awe as if she had just barked a command at him. She kicks open the flimsy bus door and climbs in. Dustin hesitates briefly before he follows, giving Steve a sympathetic glance as he does.

Steve grits his teeth, then nearly jumps out of his skin when Billy slides silently up behind him, keeping his voice low.

“This isn't a good idea.”

Steve swallows thickly and turns to stare at Billy in the eye, trying to maintain a sense of conviction.

“If anyone can help, it's Jane. Trust me, it's all we've got to work with at the moment.”

“Steve.” Billy raises a hand as if he's going to touch but pauses and drops it before he can finish the motion. “I'm going to hurt them. Not because I want to. I'm not safe. You know that. I should go.”

Steve reaches out suddenly and grabs his wrist.

“No.” He holds tight and stares into Billy's eyes to make his point. “We can help you. Being alone out there is not going to do anything but mess you up. Trust me, I'm like, the expert.”

Billy narrows his eyes, but he doesn't pull away.

“You can't help me, Harrington.”

“Fuck you.” Steve hisses, tugging his wrist. “I'm going to try anyway. If you leave I'm coming after you, I swear to god. You don't get to just leave, not after all the shit you've put me through.”

Max shoves her head out the door before Billy can respond.

“Hurry up, shit-heads. We've got planning to do.”

Steve gives Billy a meaningful stare and motions Billy into the bus ahead of him. Billy makes a low growling sound that goes right to Steve's dick before he moves to enter the bus.

He pauses briefly to inhale a deep breath, he shoots Steve a knowing look that's accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a shit eating smirk before he clambers through the door. Steve wants to die of shame. He hopes the light is dim enough inside that it hides how red his face has gone.

The day slowly crawls into the early afternoon, making the small enclosed space uncomfortably warm, and probably not helping with the rising tension inside the bus. Billy is tapping his foot, agitated, under the barrage of questions Max and Dustin fling his way, and Steve can only deflect so many of them before he knows they will demand to hear it from Billy.

More than once they've gotten dangerously close to where Billy would usually flip out, or go hulk, as Dustin calls it.

“Guys, come on, give it a rest. We're all tired, okay?” Steve tries, making an effort to put himself between them and Billy.

Max narrows her eyes at them. Scanning them over like she's taking everything in before she seems to get some kind of understanding. She leans back.

“Fine, but I'm not happy. When the others get here you don't get a free pass. You're going to tell us everything.”

“Still a bitch.” Billy mutters, and Steve is thanking whatever guardian angel he has that Max didn't hear it.

They wait in tense silence, pretending not to look at Billy. Billy who is back form the dead and kind of a monster, and still kind of a dick. Billy, who has nowhere to go or be. So changed, so damaged and altered that there can't possibly be a life out here for him. And yet... And yet Steve can't think of anywhere else Billy _should_ be.

It's a little over an hour before they hear the screech of tires and panicked calling of names. Robin bursts through the bus door like she's about to save orphans from a fire.

“What happen-” She takes a halting step forward and spots Steve. Her face crumbles into tears as she rushes at him and engulfs him in a tight hug.

Steve is nearly knocked over from the force of it but manages to steady himself against the side of a chair.

“Woah, hey! I'm okay. We got out. We're all safe.”

“Steve!”

Behind her Jane and Mike both call out, rushing over together to further envelop Steve in a tight embrace, practically smothering him with their combined weight.

Steve can't see anything beyond the tops of their heads, but he becomes very aware of the sudden awkward silence that fills the space.

Mike suddenly pulls Jane away and behind him protectively. Taking on a fighting stance with all his gangly young adult body. He's openly bristling at the sight of Billy.

Billy is watching him right back, sprawled devil-may-care a few seats down. To Steve, Billy is clearly posturing to hide how uncomfortable or nervous he is about the situation, but Steve had been a bad boy once. He knows the shtick. Mike, clearly doesn't. He looks like he's about to launch himself at Billy screaming.

Max steps quickly between them.

“So hey, it turns out, Steve was not totally fine, and Billy is alive.” She shoots Steve an accusatory look.

“They did something to Billy, though- he's like part demo, now.” Dustin puts in, unhelpfully.

“What?!” Mike yells.

Robin goes very pale, she grips Steve's shoulder tightly and shoots him an alarmed look.

Steve's preparing to have to go over the whole thing again when Jane steps forward. Gently pulling her hand away from Mike's.

She waves his protest off casually and gently moves passed Max with a small reassuring smile. She comes to a stop right in front of Billy. It's in this moment that Steve forgets how young she is. Her eyes betray an essence of someone beyond her years. Forced to grow up too soon.

Billy is staring at her like he's seeing a ghost. He's gone pale, his mouth hanging open in a silent gasp. His hands are shaking where he is gripping the seat.

If Steve didn't know any better he'd think Billy looked afraid.

Jane smiles at him.

“Thank you.” She says gently, reaching out and taking one of his large clawed hands. “You saved my life.”

It's like watching a dam break. Billy stiffens, a hard glare passing over his face. It crumbles less than a second later, twisting into something raw and broken. His eyes fill with tears.

Steve feels his heart stop at the sight.

No one else moves a muscle.

Slowly, so slowly, Jane reaches with her free hand and touches his cheek. Billy doesn't look away, his eyes are fixated on her face even as the tears fall from his eyes.

Jane traces the raised ridges on his cheeks gently, then moves her hand to cup the back of his head. He falls forward at the slightest touch from her small hand, and Steve watches all Billy's defenses crumble. He slowly wraps his arms around Jane's waist. His shoulders start shaking with tremendous sobs as Jane holds him. She bows her head to whisper into his ear, gently stroking the stubble remains of his curls.

Max suddenly moves in, adding her own arms and tears to the embrace. Forcing Billy to take her weight as she throws herself against his side, forcing him to acknowledge her.

“This isn't how I thought today would go, Dingus.” Robin says quietly as she grips Steve's hand tightly and looks up at him with watery eyes.

Steve finds the pit in his throat hard to swallow. He's too choked up and blinking back his own emotions to respond.

Billy's powerful form becomes hunched small. Max and Jane stay next to him, whispering back and forth, holding his hands, rubbing his back.

Steve would love to hear what they are saying, but he knows that's not a conversation he's meant to be part of.

This is about Billy.

“We need to use the car radio.” Jane finally speaks up after an agonizing few minutes. Max stands up beside her, gently coaxing Billy to follow.

Steve can see Dustin and Mike gearing up to start barraging them with questions, to demand to be a part of it, so he takes it into his own hands to pull them away.

“Guys, just give them a few minutes. They need this.” He's using his officer tone, specifically on Mike, who already looks like he's going to argue. It's not Steve who stops him. Jane casts Mike a look and he lets out an exasperated sigh, slumping down on the seat beside Robin.

In they end they watch the trio leave with a heavy air of resignation but acceptance.

“So what the fuck?” Robin says, kicking Steve's shoe.

Steve groans a little and slumps down into a very worn down seat. He starts to re-tell his story from the very start, where he is pretty sure he stopped Billy from eating his dad. (That little nugget of horrific information he leaves out though). When Dustin begins interjecting, getting more and more animated about it all, Steve lets himself slide out of the conversation. Mike and Dustin talk adamantly about Billy, about the labs, what it all means, how terrifying Max is when she's angry.

They try to pester Steve with questions but he's really- he's _so fucking tired_.

Robin becomes the voice of reason, steering the conversation away form Steve, though she is watching him with a raised eyebrow, and bless her fucking heart, he owes her so big. But right now he has to take a moment to just close his eyes. He soon passes out with his head pressed up against the grimy bus window.

-

Steve gets jolted awake by Mike's sharp elbow, and he lurches out of his seat with his heart in his throat and a disorienting few moments before he realizes where he is.

He doesn't know how long he's been out for but, long enough for Jane and Max to come back.

Steve feels a pang of something sharp in his gut when he doesn't immediately spot Billy with them. He sits bolt upright mouth open with a million frantic questions ready to burst out.

“Here's the deal.” Max begins, halting them all with a look. “We've got to get Billy out of town. Like fast. Those Russians want him pretty badly.”

“Okay,” Mike begins slowly. “But he's like a demogorgon now, right? What if he's working for the mind flayer?

Jane shoots him a look.

“He's not-- not connected in the same way. He feels like the upside-down but he doesn't think the same. It's like, half there, half here.” She tries to explain, her brow furrowing at the words, like they're not quite good enough to explain.

“Like the Jedi and the Sith-” Dustin begins with a huge grin on his face, only to have Mike slam a palm over his mouth to smother the next words.

“So, where do we go?” Robin asks, flicking her eyes to the door. Billy comes into view, standing there in silence, staring upwards at the sky, his arms folded tight to his chest.

“Joyce has a place near the woods. We're going there.” Jane says quietly. “I'm going to move back, to be close.”

“What! Why?” Mike interjects looking both horrified and outraged at the notion.

“Because, the Russians have or will soon open a gate.” Jane says, stunning the bus into silence. “I think Billy can help protect us from it.”

Steve feels the information hit him like a punch to the gut. It would all be happening all over again. His worst nightmares coming back to life.

So, why is he so unafraid?

His eyes stray to Billy, unable to pull away form the magnetism of his old school bully.

Billy has been like a hurricane into his life- tearing up all the old rotting floorboards that had become his every day, the thought that Steve could potentially just return to that seems ridiculous.

It even seems rational for this to all happen. Right, even.

Steve doesn't hear much of what's going on around him because Billy's blue eyes have connected with his. He's afraid to look away in case he never gets the chance again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all those who stuck around to read till the end. The supportive comments and feedback I got were really amazing!  
> xxx

Their plan is simple, _kind of_. As simple as traveling across states with a fugitive and half an alien will ever be.

Max and Steve are going to drive all the way to Colorado with Billy in the Camaro. Which really, is probably going to be just as fun as it sounds. But it's a kind of no brainer, even for Steve. They can't stay in Hawkins, and Steve has no job to go back to.

Max needs him, like, emotionally. He's pretty sure – judging by the way she's holding her shoulders, she's only barely keeping it all together as it is. Billy is a lot, even for someone as tough as her.

Then there is Billy himself; standing a way off, leaning back against the Camaro, trying to appear disinterested, or inconspicuous, and kind of failing at both. There's a tenseness to his jaw that gives him away, like he's trying to stop himself from launching into an argument. He needs all the help he can get navigating this new life. So does Steve, if he's being honest with himself.

So it's decided he's going with them within a moment of Max declaring she is going to drive Billy the whole seventeen plus hour trip. Steve pretends not to notice how relieved both she and Billy look at his mumbled agreement to tag along.

Jane and Mike decide to stay a few nights at the Wheeler house. They'll call up Joyce and let her and the rest of the gang know that Billy Max and Steve are on the way. Which is good in Steve's opinion. He's explained everything he can to the extent that he can already, he really doesn't want to go through it all again, especially with Joyce or Nancy. They're like bloodhounds when they sense secrets. It's amazing they're not blood related.

Dustin helpfully let's slip during the discussion on where everyone is headed that Nancy and Jonathan have been the point of contact for Steve and his weird disappearance. They went so far as to provide blueprints and other probably illegal information they really shouldn't have access to – to Dustin and Robin when they failed to find Steve at the police station.

Steve's a little awed by the fact they care so much. Like, it takes a concentrated effort not to tear up. He has to hide it by pretending he's annoyed they went to so much trouble – that they broke the law and all that – are probably still breaking it.

For his act, Robin slaps Steve's backside hard enough to make him jump and yelp. Because, _yeah_ , he dropped off the face of the earth for real – not just because his girlfriend was clingy and jealous and made him hit pause on years of friendship. Steve straight up disappeared, leaving cryptic messages and a mess of obsessive behaviors behind him.

He cows a bit under Robin's glare.

Honestly, he'd gotten so used to being isolated he had forgotten how good it feels to be close to people he cares about. How good it feels to know they care about him too.

Steve grips Robins hand tightly, giving it a squeeze to show his appreciation, and to apologize. Her glare softens into a small smile. She squeezes his hand back.

“I'm going to take Dustin home and crash the night in his mom's guest room. We used up a lot of our leave trying to get to you, dingus. You owe us big time. That's not a joke.”

Steve grimaces a little, but nods and tugs her into an awkward hug of thanks.

“We're all going to be coming over for Christmas, you can start making it up to us then.” Dustin pipes in, joining the hug without waiting for a turn. “You better not get eaten.”

“I don't know, that seems pretty tempting right now.” Steve replies, ruffling Dustin's curls.

Robin glances back at Billy appraizingly then returns to face Steve with an eyebrow raised high.

“I bet.” She says smugly.

It takes the penny a little longer to drop for Steve. But when it does he turns bright red and hastily shoves her away towards her car to shut her up.

She laughs and loops her arm around Dustin's shoulders.

“Come on, Dingus junior.” She says tugging him along. “I want to see the Petri dish your crawled out of”

“Hey!” Is all Steve hears from Dustin in protest before they climb in her car.

A few meters away Mike talks low with Max, throwing furtive glances towards Billy as he does, and Max is staring straight ahead with her bottom lip caught in her teeth. Steve fights back a groan, hoping like hell Mike's not rocking the proverbial car-boat. It'll be a long enough drive as it is.

Steve's tempted to stomp over there and clip Mike over the back of the head with his palm, but he spots Jane out of the corner of his eye, and I momentarily makes him forget what he was thinking.

She is talking with Billy, a gentle hand on his blood stained shoulder. She looks tiny next to him, and Steve has to remind himself this is the same Jane that used her brain to shove the mind flayer back to where it came from.

If anyone should be scared, it's Billy. And he does. His eyes are darting everywhere but at her face, like he's afraid to look directly at her. He catches Steve's eye instead and holds it like he's trying to transfer a message directly into Steve's brain.

Steve approaches slowly, giving them time to finish up anything private before he clears his throat and smiles at Jane.

She smiles back, wider and more earnestly than he's ever seen. She wraps Steve in a warm hug and exhales heavily against him. Steve pats her back, a little lost and bemused.

“Keep him safe.” She murmurs against Steve's chest. “He needs your strength.”

Steve blinks down at her in surprise.

“I will see you soon.” she promises and moves away without explaining anything.

Steve watches her, totally at a loss for words. Jane and Mike pile into Robin's car and she toots the horn as they pull out of the scrap yard.

Steve, Max, and Billy stand there in silence watching them leave.

-

Steve needs to get some shit together and Billy needs some actual clothes, so, while it might not be a hundred percent smart to head back home, Max drives him to his little cabin to pick up what's left of his stuff. Steve's pretty sure the lab and the Russians have bigger problems right now, if any of them are still alive – so he has no issues taking an hour or so to pick up some extra things.

He would also like to not be in his pajamas for the foreseeable future.

Billy stays silent in the back seat as they head to the cabin, and Steve finds himself glancing back often to check if he's still there. He realizes after the third glance, that he doesn't know what he would do if Billy just up and vanished.

“Steve?” Max asks quietly when they have managed to tuck the Camaro beside his beat up pick-up.

“Are you okay leaving all this?”

Steve can tell she's nervous, her shoulders are a little rigid, her eyes a little too wide.

He just smiles at her reassuringly.

“Leave it running, I don't have a lot.”

He dives through his cabin like a small whirlwind, piling the most important stuff into a duffel bag. Clothes, papers, cash, his hand guns, and whatever food is left in his pantry; which isn't much, and also kind of depressing. Steve throws himself into some fresh clothes, and prospects a few of his spare pastel sweaters that he has a feeling Billy is going to hate. But beggars can't be choosers – also he thinks the blue would really match Billy's eyes.

He flings his stuffed duffel bag unceremoniously into the trunk of the Camaro and jogs to the front. Max is almost vibrating out of he seat with nervous energy and she's already pulling out before Steve can even shut the door.

“Woah, hey! Relax, alright?” Steve yelps, hurriedly pulling his seat belt on.

Max just tightens her jaw and Steve's pretty sure she intentionally rounds the next corner too fast so he sort of shoulder checks the door. The move is followed by another glare from her – daring him to complain. Steve takes a firm hold of the grab handle and keeps his big mouth shut.

_Yeah, it's going to be a long couple of days. Like, holy fuck._

The moment they are safely on the way out Steve tosses a the spare clothes and a muesli bar to Billy. Billy accepts the clothes with a slight grimace at the soft blue sweater in his hands, but makes no comment as he pulls it on. He throws the Muesli bar back into the front seat and just glares at Steve, pointedly crossing his arms and posturing a little like he's deeply pissed off.

It takes Steve way too long to work out why. Because, _oh yeah_ , Billy likes his food red and meaty now, and that's- well that's it's own problem. Steve's not even sure how to begin to approach that. So he's- you know, just going to let Billy come out and say it to Max, because eventually they are going to need to start talking and Steve doesn't want to be stuck in that mediator role.

_They're all adults for fucks sake._

The silence between them as they pull out onto the main road out of town is almost physically painful. Steve doesn't know what to say or do to relax either of them so he reaches out and flicks on the radio. Metallica immediately blares out over the speakers.

Max shoots Steve an incredulous look, and in that moment Steve can't help but forget she's not actually blood related to Billy. Her expression is almost identical to one Steve's seen on Billy's face countless times in the past. The look passes quickly though, as her eyes dart to the rear-view mirror. Steve glances over his shoulder to see Billy almost completely relaxed with his eyes closed. He's almost complete absorbed in the sound of 'Master of Puppets'.

Steve grins and throws Max a wink. She tries to look exasperated but ruins it with a small soft smile. Her shoulders relax noticeably on her next deep exhale. The radio stays on.

The ride goes smoothly, at least until they reach the farmlands.

“Pull over here.” Billy says, tapping Max's headrest.

Then the atmosphere goes tense again. Max pulls over without word. Steve shoots her a questioning look but she wont meet his eye.

Billy clambers out of the back and ducks into the thin tree line on the side of the road.

“What's going on?” Steve asks, already preparing to dive out the door after him.

“He's getting something to eat.” Max says through gritted teeth.

“Oh.” Steve relaxes back into his seat, chancing a look at her expression. “So... he told you already?”

She punches his shoulder hard.

“Ow! What?!” He reaches out to rub the spot. But she's punching him again, in short sharp jabs.

“Hey!” He fends her off after the first three. “I'm sorry, okay? It wasn't really something I could just blurt out, you know?”

Her face scrunches up and she manages to hold herself together for a moment more before the tears start flowing. Steve stares at her in shock for a second before he's awkwardly pulling her by the shoulders into a hug across the center console. She cries into his shirt and he doesn't say a thing about it. He just gently rubs her back until she calms herself down enough to pull away.

“I hope they all fucking died in that explosion.” She says finally, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“Max, he's alive because of them. There's some shit we have to work out but, for now, just focus on the next step, okay?” Steve murmurs, gently gripping her shoulder.

She lets out a shuddering breath and nods, blinking heavily through her tearful eyes.

“God, this is so messed up.” She says on another exhale. “But, I'm glad it was you, Steve. I know that's kind of shitty, but, I am. Billy told us how you helped him. I don't think anyone else could have done for him what you did.”

Steve stares at her in mild confusion. He's pretty sure Billy helped himself, really, Steve was just trying not to die while also being a pain in the ass every chance he got.

He's saved any awkward comment when Billy returns, wordlessly pulling off his bloodied scrub top and using it to wipe blood from his face. He throws it into the tree line when he's done and pulls Steve's pastel sweater back on over his scars. He climbs into the back seat and closes his eyes again, shutting his travel companions out.

Max exchanges a look with Steve before wordlessly starting the engine again.

-

They get a solid few hours out of Hawkins before Max has to stop for petrol and supplies. Steve convinces her to pull into a truckers motel off the highway. They're all exhausted, and Steve's running on fumes. There's a steady headache behind his eyes and he's only managed an hour of sleep scattered through out the trip so far. It's just not enough.

Steve pitches in to get them two neighboring rooms. Max gets one for herself, while Steve is sharing a twin with Billy. He's so tired he doesn't even spare it a second thought – has absolutely no brain power left to even begin to feel nervous about sharing a confined space in his vulnerable sleep state.

He's pretty sure he'd sleep through his own painful death at this stage.

There's little time wasted in getting themselves situated for the night. Billy and Max are talking in her room, and as much as Steve would like to be involved, he just can't. He barely manages a shower before he's collapsing in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt onto his bed. He's asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

-

He's not sure what wakes him. It's dark, silent. There's a familiar creeping presence in the room, like someone holding their breath.

Steve lifts his head from the pillow and squints into the dimness of the room. His heart rate picks up when he sees the faint outline of a form standing at the edge of his bed. He holds his breath while his brain plays catch up with the unfamiliar surroundings and the ominous presence.

Billy. His memory supplies.

“Hey?” Steve croaks, trying not to show how fucking horrifying it is to wake up to someone looming over him.

There's an uncomfortable pause, and Steve is starting to feel the alarm creep up into his heart, before Billy finally talks.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, raspy, like he's just woken up.

Steve frowns and sits up a bit more, resting back on his elbows.

“Everything okay?” He's talking like this is just an every day thing for him. Like Billy hovering over his bed is perfectly fine.

It's very not fine.

His heart is still thudding hard against his ribs, and he's not thinking about the way his dick is suddenly super awake.

“Steve-” Billy makes a sort of frustrated wounded sound. He places a clawed and on the bed by Steve's foot and waits.

A moment passes, and then another. Steve draws in a breath.

“Please.” Billy rasps. “It's cold.”

And, okay, yeah. Steve gets the message.

He nods quickly before he can really think about it too hard.

Billy barely waits a second before he's clambering carefully onto the small single bed. He avoids crushing Steve's limbs somehow, but doesn't extend the same thought to Steve's torso. Billy's weight comes down against his ribs solidly, making Steve wheeze a bit as the air is forced out of his lungs. Billy pays him no mind, instead, like an oversized terrifying cat, he shifts about, making himself comfortable.

Steve lays back, trying to find the right words for this situation. He's pretty sure by now Billy doesn't want to hurt him – so this is about something else. Whatever it is, Steve can't just keep on ignoring it. He's also not going to let Billy pretend it didn't happen again.

“Why?” Steve finally manages to utter into the dark.

Billy's arm comes to rest over Steve's chest, a false embrace that sends shivers up Steve's spine nonetheless.

“You feel good.” Billy mumbles against his shoulder.

“Seriously?”

Billy makes an annoyed sound and turns his face into Steve's neck, Steve's not sure if it's a threat or he's just hiding.

“It's hard to sleep. I don't- you're safe. You're warm. I like the way you smell. It helps.” He rumbles into Steve's neck.

Hiding then.

Steve takes in a deep breath, letting it sink in. He finds himself smiling in the dark.

“Thanks?”

Billy snorts a little and pats Steve's chest in response.

“Don't mention it. Like, ever.”

“Billy,” Steve turns his head a fraction, redundantly. “We could keep doing this if you need to.”

There's a sharp but quiet intake of breath near Steve's ear.

“Don't offer me that, Harrington.”

“Why not?” Steve frowns, puzzled.

“I might think you mean it.”

Steve laughs softly and raises a hand to rub at his stinging eyes. It is dangerous to offer, Steve knows that – and not just for him. Only, he can't stop thinking about how his life has always been _more_ when Billy is in it, even when they were stupid kids fighting for a worthless crown. The turbulence of Billy's life pulls and forces everyone around him into a tailspin, like a whirl pool. And maybe, for once, Billy could stand to have something calm around him. It doesn't really feel all that wrong to offer him comfort.

Steve's not sure he can just ignore it any more. Maybe he just doesn't want to.

“You've done a lot for me, Steve.” Billy murmurs quietly – like he can read Steve's thoughts. “There's a chance at a new life for you, still. Away from all this.”

 _From me_. Steve hears the unspoken words. He shakes his head.

“We're kind of in the same boat, you know? I don't think I can go back to whatever normal is any more than you can. I'm too fucked up, in a different way. I never realized how hard it was to just pretend like shit was normal until I didn't have to pretend any more.”

There's a pause between them. Steve can hear himself breathing steady, almost in sync with Billy.

“Stay with me then, Princess.” Billy says in a soft voice, like he's afraid to say it any louder.

“What would I even do, though?” Steve blurts with a crooked grin. He's trying to get a look at Billy's expression but the angles all wrong.

“Aside from me?” Billy's tone is light, teasing, but also hinting toward a little lewd. Steve nudges Billy's side with an elbow, feeling the red wash over his own face in a wave of embarrassment. His dick twitches with interest.

“I can smell it on you, you know.” Billy husks, so close to his ear his hot breath tickles Steve's skin.

Steve swallows thickly.

“I guessed, yeah. Pretty messed up, right?”

There's a pause between them.

“I like the smell of you. I like it when you smell like that.” Billy mumbles, his turn to be embarrassed.

Steve's breath catches in his throat and Billy raises his head slowly. Hovering just over Steve's face. His eyes glint in the dark of the room, intense and questioning.

Later Steve will be hard pressed to remember who initiated the kiss, but he remembers everything else with startling clarity.

In a fraction of a second Billy's mouth is on his. Softly at first, then when Steve doesn't shrink away Billy gets bolder. Steve can feel the phantom press of sharp teeth and the swipe of wet tongue against his lips and it makes his blood pound in his ears. Billy taste's like iron, his lips are cold and wet, but Steve can't help himself, he opens up to it, letting Billy lick into his mouth and tug at his lips. The pin prick of pain goes straight to Steve's not so faltering erection.

Then Billy's hand traces down his stomach slowly, Steve doesn't stop him, instead he find his own hand gripping the back of Billy's neck to keep him close enough to kiss. The prick of fangs on his tongue startles a moan out of Steve, then a flush of embarrassment. Then Billy is gripping him through his boxers and nothing matters any more.

Billy doesn't stop and Steve doesn't ask him to. It's messy and over too quickly, but Steve can't help but feel like he's reached some sort of dizzying high by the time they are both laying panting and spent.

Steve's feeling himself drift towards sleep, sated and warm, in a haze of peace that he hasn't felt in a long time, when he feels Billy trail sharp kisses along his neck.

“I told Owens about the mind flayer in return for letting me go into your room that time.”

“I fucking knew it!” Steve hisses out a breath between his teeth – too tired to do more than that. “Why?”

“I could smell you everywhere. You made me remember parts of my life again – like it had all just happened; stuff I had forgotten, all the emotion and shit that came with it. It felt so fucking _good_ to be able to feel anything other than anger. I could smell your arousal, your fear and, your sadness and it was like drowning. I needed that again.”

Steve doesn't know what to say. He tentatively reaches up and touches Billy's cheek, tracing the raised tissue gently with a finger until Billy pulls away.

“I remember wanting you so badly when we were in high school. I hated how much I wanted. I hated you for making me feel that way.” Billy murmurs against Steve's temple. “But when I saw you again in that cop uniform, talking to my dad. I realized: I'm already a monster, so what's really stopping me? That could have been my only chance to finally just – have a taste of you- of what it could have been like, and no one could have stopped me, not even my old man. So I was selfish and I pulled you into my world. I don't regret it.”

Steve swallows thickly.

“It's been- yeah. I don't know what I would be doing if you hadn't.” Steve stumbles over his words. “But I know it would have been a lie. This is whole situation is not, like- it's not great but it's honest, you know? I don't have to pretend. So we're both fucked up, but- I think we can make it work.”

Billy makes an odd noise somewhere between a snort and a huff.

“Are you asking me to go steady, Harrington? You want my monster dick that bad?”

Steve groans and belts Billy's _monster face_ with a pillow.

“I want to work with you to figure this shit out, fuck-head.”

“I might hurt you.” Billy near whispers.

“Physically or emotionally? Because, like, I've been through some shit recently. I think I can handle it.”

“You're a freak, Harrington.”

“Yeah, don't cream your pants.”

Billy starts humming the tune to 'Send Me an Angel' Steve knows he's lost whatever sanity he has left. He might have fallen just a little bit in love with a monster by the name of Billy Hargrove.

Steve doesn't know what it is about Billy, he doesn't want to question it – the answer might be scarier than the demogorgons. What he does know is that for the first time in a long time he feels like himself. He feels alive.

He's going to fight like hell to keep that feeling.

-

When Max knocks on their door the next day, she seems a lot more put together, there's a fresh determination in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

“Come on, Chuckle fucks.” She says, adopting Billy's mannerisms like a second skin. “You can smooch later, we got a life to get to.”

Steve chokes on his glass of water.

“These walls are like, paper thin. So you know.” She says conversationally as she hauls her bag up over her shoulder and heads to the car.

Billy snorts a bit and nudges Steve with his elbow as he passes to gather up his own things.

Steve allows his mortification a few more seconds before he shakes himself back to life.

There's nothing he can do now. If he leaves Billy, Max will hunt him down and castrate him. He guesses he's stuck in this till the end.

The idea sends a tiny thrill through Steve's stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god it's over.


End file.
